Time Will Tell
by NY GE Pyromaniac
Summary: She never knew what lay ahead of her... The answer lay behind her. FULL SUMMARY INSIDE Tom Riddle Jr. x OC give it a chance
1. Prologue

Rating – T

Pairing – Tom Riddle Jr. x OC

Summary: Thalia is trapped in the middle of the second wizarding war, a half-blood who can only think to save her family - it's all she wants. But she never realized that she was meant for more - never knew that the choices she'd made had blanketed everything and erased what little memory she had left of who she really was. It's a long and arduous thing to do, waiting for Death and trying to defeat it while knowing all along it will come and won't be stopped. But Thalia isn't the type to give up and even she learns this about herself in the strangest of ways, when she's transported back in Time to a certain Dark Lord's era and is forced to face the demons she'd left behind in another life.

**A/N: **So, this is my first Riddle Jr. fic and of course I chose to make it Riddle/OC. It's kind of hard for me to write this fic simply because I'm trying to make Tom human as well as the evil twisted little fucker we all know him to be. The beginning is kind of slow but it will pick up as we get past the first couple of chapers. Hopefully you stick with me. Well, I can't say anymore because I'll blab too much, but hopefully you enjoy it and if you do, you what to do: follow, review, fav, etc etc. Thanks!

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell <em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**_Prologue_**

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><p>I never thought I could push myself this hard.<p>

_Keep running_, I told myself over and over and over. The wind lashed painfully against my exposed skin; every muscle in my body felt as if I'd fallen into a vat of acid that had begun to slowly eat away at them. I thought my heart would burst soon from so much strain and effort or that my lungs, with every puff of air I took, came just a few O2 molecules from collapsing. But none of that – not a bit of it mattered. I knew I couldn't allow myself to stop, not even to breathe. I _had_ to _keep going_.

The wildly beautiful scenery rushed by in a blur of evergreens and walls of low hanging ivy from gnarled and protruding branches that ripped at my clothes and cut shallowly into whatever flesh they met. Under different circumstances, I could have associated this place with another kind emotion and memory. But that bit of fantasy would have to wait. Or never get acknowledged. It would all depend on the outcome of this mess.

_It _will_ work – you_ know_ it will._ I pushed harder off of the ground with every step and, just as I noticed the pulsating quality that my vision had taken on, broke through the last wall of branches and ivy into a clearing.

The moon shone brightest here and I even felt glad at this point to see the wall of black cloaks. They encircled a fairly small stone outcropping, from what I could see through tiny gaps in between them. My surge of relief quickly extinguished itself, however. The pulsating grew stronger around the edges of my vision, giving the scene the appearance of playing out on the body of a jellyfish: pulsing overall but more so at the edges. The pulsing emanated from the object around my neck.

I stumbled forward to the cloaks and the few in front of me broke apart to reveal him. He sat at the foot of the outcropping, even paler in the moonlight, with no trace of panic that any of the cloaked would recognize. But the tight line that his mouth had formed on his otherwise calm and collected face, to me, felt like hearing a whimper from a scared child.

_Go to him – take him with you…start again with him_, I urged myself, shoving weakly against the few cloaks that had recognized me and tried to hold me back.

"Let her pass." He spoke clearly and calmly, but still had that tight line in place.

Someone's chest rumbled with the suppressed growl, but they shoved me away from the mass of black all the same. It's not like I presented a threat as the neurotic mess I felt like at the moment.

The glass caused my vision to pulsate more violently and I fell to my knees before the pale faced angel, weaker than I've ever felt. "It's happening – I must go…. I have to start again," I told him, struggling to keep my upper body off of the ground. Only then, when I heard my own voice, did I realize how scared I felt – that _tears_ soaked my cheeks. That fact, fatal to my ego because I almost never cried in front of him, didn't matter now. Now, only getting him to come with me mattered.

Registering a new thrumming vibration that radiated from my chest and joined the pulsing vision, I knew that time ran low. I had only seconds.

My breath hitched in a gasp and I felt my eyes widen with terror but he stood slowly, pulling me with him.

"Please," I begged. "Come with me – it doesn't have to be like this. We can – "

"Go back." His tone, one I'd heard before but never in present company, calmed me momentarily. His face, still smooth as if he'd just given orders to another one of his followers, gave nothing away and even though it stung a bit, I appreciated the façade.

The violent thrumming physically shook me despite his firm grip. _This is it…it's over_. _There's no more Time_. Time itself had run out here. The end brought a close to the pulsing but also a blinding azure light that began to coat the scene as if an invisible hand had painted it into existence. The weariness and pain that I'd felt so strongly mere seconds before faded as the light grew brighter. His grip also slipped, and I wanted to scream my protest – grab onto him and bring him with me.

But the urgency I felt paled only in comparison to how clearly he read it on my pleading face. He let go of me, shaking his head. "Start again." His parting order as the azure light finally blanketed everything echoed slightly before I blew away into nothingness as if I existed as no more than a dense mist. His dancing eyes – the last sight burned into my memory….


	2. The Wrinkle

**_Thalia Selena Espinoza-Paz_**

I sat at my dad's desk in the Auror Office, playing with some map markers when it happened. Dad looked up from some report he'd picked up to read at the sound of fast and heavy footfalls, as did I. For a second I felt disoriented, unable to tell which way they sounded from because he and I remained the only ones in the office right now. The rest had all scattered about dinner time around the building, I assumed. But then Kingsley Shacklebolt, an auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix like Dad, burst through the doorway, robes askew and wand out.

"Get her home. Scrimgeour's dead." His panted words barely had time to reach my ears before Dad dropped the report and pulled me out of my seat and past Shacklebolt.

He'd dragged me around three strangely deserted corridors before he spoke. "Wand, hija."

"Dad, what the hell?" I demanded, not caring that my voice cracked with the fear that had surged through me at Kingsley's words. But I obeyed nonetheless. I took my wand out with my free hand and ran with Dad until he finally stopped at the lifts. This no Apparition thing really inconvenienced us.

He turned to me, squeezing the hand he'd grabbed and smashing the down button with the fist he held his wand in. "I'm going to take you home and you'll stay there, entendiste?"

I nodded, more terrified now by the urgency of his tone. Never one to worry unless he didn't know what to do, Dad _always_ hid his fear. "But you too, right?"

He switched to auror mode as the lift clanged toward us, his face as hard as stone and eyes just as cold. "No. I must aide the Order first. It is priority –"

"Papá!"

"Thalia! Please, for once, just do what I say! I promise nothing will happen to you – I've protected our house and your brother is there. He will protect –"

"– and who will protect _you_?" I cried. This couldn't happen to me. "The Ministry has fallen – that much I can guess from what Kingsley said and what you're doing – the Death Eaters got Scrimgeour. But _why_ must you be next in line?"

He just stared at me, a tortured look marring his rugged features, and shook his head. "Nothing will happen to me, I promise," he whispered, bringing our hands up to stroke my cheek once – a warm whisper against my skin. "Get in." The lift had arrived and, once inside, he smashed the button for the atrium. "If anyone stops us, we're just going to dinner – well, if anyone even bothers. I guess there's no point anymore…."

I breathed hard and squeezed his hand back as hard as I could. There remained no more pretenses. Everyone whom my father had meticulously kept me away from today that I'd spent all day here because he refused to leave me home alone would now flaunt their true loyalties. The Ministry belonged now to Lord Voldemort. I couldn't grasp it – didn't even want to think about what that meant for half-bloods like my dad, my brother and I. I had to focus on getting out of here with my dad, then on making him stay with me.

The lift rattled to a stop and neither of us waited for the female voice to finish speaking or even for the grilles to open fully to get out and run into the atrium. At the fountain now, both our eyes darted warily around the swarming hall. Witches and wizards piled themselves up at all the grates, fighting to Floo out first. Tonight's events had spread like wildfire, hadn't they? Noticing the looks some of them gave my dad, this stood crystal clear to me; the empty Auror Office and the corridors leading up to it now made sense. The aurors who'd turned or turned back to Voldemort now staked their claims. But surely these people knew my dad better than that?

"Espinoza!"

All movement in the atrium halted. Only the final _whoosh_es of people who'd already spoken their destination and swirled away sounded. But apart from that, no one even dared to breathe as the voice resounded in the large room. People stared at some point behind Dad and I, eyes wide and lips trembling.

My fear overrode my instinct and I froze when the deep tenor of a voice clicked with something in my mind. But Dad pulled me so that I now stood behind him as he raised his wand, facing who'd spoken. I trembled from head to foot when I saw Yaxley had his wand pointed at me. I'd never get my wand up fast enough.

"Where're you going, Espinoza?" he asked tauntingly. "Wouldn't want to miss the party, eh?"

Dad never had patience with this kind of thing, and I knew what I had to do when he squeezed my arm, even if it went against my deepest nature. He, after all, remained all I had in a parent. One, two, three squeezes more and he let go of me, whipping his wand through the air.

Although caught off guard, Yaxley recovered quickly but I'd already taken off.

It took the force generated by every cell in my body to go against what my heart begged for, but I did it: I kept running. I couldn't distract my father no matter how bad I wanted to stay and help. Vision blurred by the tears now filling my eyes, I threw myself into the lift that Yaxley had barely vacated and smacked at the buttons until one lit not knowing or caring which. My panic and grief overcame me as the lift rattled to life and began to descend. Sliding down the lift's wall, I sobbed brokenly, gasping for air when my lungs couldn't take the ache of its absence, and made no effort to stem the hot flow of tears. More Death Eaters would surely come and who knew if Dad would make it to find me? I guess I'd subconsciously made the choice to run to the lifts instead of pushing past the stunned bystanders in the atrium to get out.

When the lift finally stopped and the grille opened, my legs shook too badly to run and I realized too late that I hadn't heard the name of the level I gotten off at. It didn't matter; Death would find me wherever the hell I was. Sobbing a little less freely now due to my concentration in keeping myself standing, I stumbled down the dimly lit corridor. I made my way over to a door at the end that stood next to a flight of stone steps and in my dazing grief, wondered vaguely if bravery counted much now. Or did what I feel come closer to suicidal? Debating between descending the stairs, hiding through the door or waiting here to die, my chicken-hearted answer came to me when I heard another lift clanging down toward me. I yanked at the door and threw myself through it, easing it closed as quietly as I could behind me.

The room I'd entered, possibly the oddest room I'd ever seen due simply to its perfect roundness and the doors inset all around it, felt…well, _weird_. But I didn't have time to linger on that, so I stepped forward but stopped after half a stride. The room had begun to spin rapidly, blurring the doors and burning torches in a haze of blue and black. _What the fuck?_ I wondered, feeling the vertigo attack me and struggling to stay upright. When it stopped, I just wanted to get out. Who knew what the hell kind of magic the room held and where those doors led? I didn't want to find out and I'd rather take my chances with the Death Eaters. So, I yanked at the door right behind me, thinking it would lead me out. Hey, it had led me in…right?

"What the…?" I asked aloud as I stepped into an elongated, narrow room that had desks all down the length of the room on one side and bookcases on the other and clocks. Lots of clocks – clocks, large and small, carriage and grandfather, on every surface and dangling between the bookcases. The incessant ticking countered the peaceful aura given off by the beautiful, dancing sparkles of light that shone as if reflected from diamonds. The truly astonishing room would not give way to exploration tonight.

The door banged open, shaking me from my awe and pushing me into fight or flight mode. _Fight_, I told myself stubbornly, unwilling to run further. I knew Yaxley stood there before I even turned and as such braced myself. Clenching my fist around my wand and inhaling deeply, I turned on my heel and faced him. Yaxley, as predicted, and Travers, that obnoxious prick, stood with him. I'd expected that – more Death Eaters. They loved the dramatic. Especially with people they didn't like and the Espinoza family made their shit list a time ago, us 'cheeky half-bloods'. But I didn't expect Dad, and much less, still breathing albeit laboriously.

"Dad," I gasped, stiffening.

A soft chuckle reached my ears and I remembered the two deadly men in front of me, who held up the limp form of my father.

"Ready, Espinoza? Here's your brat. Watch her die!" Travers, incensed, had his wand up in an instant. See? Dramatic. He wasted time doing this and opened himself up for a stunning spell to the chest.

_Stupefy!_ I thought and let my wand swing up as I purposely fell backward, knowing Yaxley would counter as fast as lightning the second he saw movement from me. The spell hit and, as predicted, Yaxley sent a purple streak of light flying past me as I made contact with the floor. He yelled his fury but that got quickly cut off by his own grunt. I pushed myself upward to see what had happened and saw that Dad had stood and tackled him to the floor.

"Run!" he ordered and, again, I obeyed, hating myself.

I pumped my legs as hard as I could to put as much distance between Yaxley and myself, intending to hide under a desk and take aim from there to help Dad. I'd run the length of the room and threw myself under the last desk that stood next to a large bell jar that had an egg in it. I'd hid under the desk not three seconds when it got blasted from above me and into the bell jar, which caught a strange yellow light beam and shattered after the desk had soared right through it, coming out as several large logs from the other side.

"Shit!" I fell backward again and shielded myself from the debris and glass.

Someone let out a bark of laughter and when I looked up, I saw Yaxley laughing and holding my dad down on the floor, unnecessarily, with his booted foot. "You see, Thalia? Now Daddy has to die because you just _had_ to run."

My anger got spiked out by my fear. A strange roaring filled my ears and I knew Death had come. I only prayed that I'd die first – I didn't care how – just that I went first. I couldn't lose anyone else – I couldn't _watch_ Dad die. So I nodded and said, "Go ahead."I could barely hear myself over the roaring growing ever louder and – had a breeze suddenly swept in here? The question fell to the bottom of my importance list as I watched Yaxley shake with laughter and raise his wand, ready to kill.

But then he stopped laughing and stared, open mouthed, at a point behind me. What had made him act this way stood out pretty clearly by now. The breeze question rose back up to the top of my importance list, joined by 'what the _hell_ is that roaring?' I turned and saw that a kind of miniature whirlwind had formed near the shattered glass of the bell jar and the egg still floated within it. Slowly, it rose and the egg hatched and grew into a chick. As it lowered through the wind, the chick's feathers molted and the little bird retreated back into its shell, which repaired itself into a whole egg.

I watched, amazed and horrified all at once, realizing that this magic represented some sort of cycle but I didn't have time to think more on it. I wanted to get away from it and the feeling only intensified as the egg vanished when it reached the bottom of the whirlwind. Had it grown? I took a step back and glanced at Yaxley, who tried to manually pull Travers out of the room – a mark of how bad things had gone. I needed to get my dad and myself away from here _now_.

I took a step toward them and tilted halfway into running position when I got pulled backward by my hair. Sucking in a sharp gasp, I reached my hand toward Yaxley who'd frozen in his attempts to pull Travers out and stared, too horrified to move. My shrieks rent the air as the whirlwind caught me up in its cycle and lifted me off the ground, tossing me about. Pretty soon I could only hear the echoes of my own terrified shrieks resounding louder and stronger until they deafened me. Then, as quickly as it had sucked me in, the wind drew me downward – down and away from the room, away from Dad and away from sight into an endless darkness where I could no longer positively claim consciousness…or life.

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><p>*hija: daughter<p>

**entendiste: understood?/did you understand?


	3. No Fate but What we Make

**A/N: **To my one reviewer, RiddleMeNew, you're awesome - you made it easier for me to update quicker. BTW, I don't know, I guess for the same reason it never occurred to me that there were Egyptian and African witches and wizards? Meh, no clue. Anyway, I hope you and the silent readers enjoy this chapter and well, ya know what to do.

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Two: _No_ _Fate but What we Make_**

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><p><em>"The whole thing goes: The future's not set. There's no fate but what we make for ourselves." – John Conner<em>

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><p>"<em>Again<em> with this insolent one?"

I sighed. "Here we go," I muttered under my breath as I stood and walked over to the expansive marble staircase. No need to ask where he stood or who he'd meant by 'insolent one' – I already knew.

He stood on the raised platform where the enormous encasement, made entirely of crystal and inscribed atop the topmost shelf with the word 'Viatores', towered over the rest of the encasements in the Hall. "I heard that," he said resentfully, eyeing me. Well, that's what I called it anyway. He had no true sight in the normal sense so it meant nothing to use those kinds of sayings with him.

"I see you've chosen a more – ah – _able-bodied_ form today," I commented, truly taking him in. He'd draped himself in a flowing and, as always, white cloth reminiscent of a toga. Short, chestnut colored curls topped his head and from the immaculately cherubic face peered two cornflower blue eyes, a theatrical touch of his and a joke to me. "Feeling young at heart, Chronos?"

He narrowed his sightless eyes, pointing his scythe at me, and said, "_Don't_ call me that."

"Would you prefer Grim Reaper, then?" I taunted, approaching him at the hourglass he stood in front of on shelf 'E'.

"She continues to amaze me, this one," he murmured, turning to watch the glittering blue sand in said hourglass trickle through the body to the bottom half. Some of its own sand dusted the small amount of visible surface area around the glass. It had spilled, he had explained, when the crack that spanned the length of the hourglass first defiled it.

I smirked. "Thank you. You continue to flatter me."

He scoffed and rumbled something incoherently, still staring.

"What now?"

"It's starting again." He pointed at the top half of the glass and then brought his hand to hover over his chest as if to reinforce the connection between the larger defiled hourglass and the tiny one that hung from a rope thick silver chain around his neck. A pinprick of golden light shone from the very beginning of the fissure in the azure sanded hourglass and the smaller, black sanded one shone brightly, wholly. From the pinprick the light grew and spread like molten gold throughout the crevices and splits that branched from one another in a twisted imitation of a river.

"You don't fool me, you know," I said, tearing my gaze from the all too familiar scene and fixing it upon him.

He shook his head, not looking away from the scene, rapt, as always. "You've been here almost a quarter of a millennium. I daren't _try_ to fool you." His voice sounded ancient with an unmistakable grief.

"Why do you watch it still if you've already seen it?" I gazed as the young boy aged rapidly before my eyes, not quite as affected as the first time I witnessed the phenomenon yet not quite immune to the strength of the supernatural force behind it. Before me now stood the same man but in his true form: an old bearded man; hair, white with age, and shoulders stooped with the weight of Time on them.

He rounded his milky white, blind eyes on me and surveyed me for a moment. Then he spoke: "Perhaps it is, to use the human phrase, like watching a car accident? Its attraction for me is mere morbid fascination, I expect…. But having been stuck here with me as your only company for so long, I think you know better than to believe that." With a crooked and yet brittle smile he ambled slowly away.

"Wicked old fool," I growled under my breath.

"That's Father Time to you, insolent brat," he called from the stairs.

I merely smiled fondly at his acute endearment.

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><p>When I next felt even somewhat aware of anything, it felt like my chest had ripped open. Darkness still pervaded every corner of this place, but that got chalked down as less important than the horrible suffocation engulfing me. My lungs hurt in my chest – burned for the cool, fresh feeling of even the smallest breath of air. But I couldn't get it. I <em>couldn't<em> breathe! I felt sure that if darkness didn't already surround me, right about now the lack of oxygen to my brain would start registering as a darkening of my vision and a numbing of my nerve endings. In fact, it may well have started happening without my knowing. But another wave of searing pain in my chest keyed me in to my very acute awareness just then – especially of that cold wetness surrounding me. When had that come?

My instincts took over and shot out different orders all at once. I kicked and pushed with my entire store of strength through the dark water. A slight lightening of the darkness sent a fresh spasm of energy through me. Did it also feel a little less cold? I'd stopped trying to gasp for air and that kept the searing pain at bay enough to let me concentrate on getting past the dark cold. Amid my own frantically propelling limbs, I broke the surface. The cascade of water spewing from my mouth impeded the massive gulp of air that I wanted to suck in. Water continued to expel from my lungs and when they'd emptied, I swallowed in the burning sweetness of my first gulp of fresh air. Finally able to breathe freely, I looked around me, swiveling my head this way and that to get a full three hundred and sixty degrees if visibility.

Dazed and confused as the experience had left me, a few minutes passed before I could recognize the lake in which I'd turned up, the trees on the fringes of the shore and the turrets in the sky. I did a double take at those, but a more focused look confirmed what I'd thought at first and what the recognition of the lake and even the trees did. All of them – a part of the structure or of the general grounds of the grand castle that stood before me: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Automatically – practically as if maneuvered remotely by something deeper than instinct – I swam to the muddy shore of the lake and then broke into a stuttering crawl through the rocks, mud and reeds onto the grassy grounds of the school. I barely noticed how my arms shook violently as I continued on past Hagrid's hut to the castle. Panic dominated me. I'd always thought it impossible to get onto the grounds inside the protective barrier of powerful spells that Hogwarts had. What the hell had I done? I had no memory of even _wanting_ to go to Hogwarts let alone of having gotten here and all the way to the bottom of the lake.

The grounds, not entirely empty (as they should have been it being August still) played resting ground to the students I'd surely attract the attention of (first years judging by their size) who sat on the end of the lake closer to the castle – where Dumbledore's tomb…no longer stood.

My breath hitched painfully and I froze like a deer in headlights. _They moved it,_ provided the part of my subconscious that kept the conscious from completely snapping. _Of course, they moved it…._ But, no, that didn't go over well because now I'd taken in the grounds with more attention. Much of it remained the same as we'd left it in June with the exception of the white tomb and – I saw now – the Whomping Willow. I couldn't find that shit either.

"Hello?" One of the kids from the edge of the lake, a girl, had approached. "Are you alright?" she asked, sounding as scared as I felt. Rather small, even for a first year, she wore her hair in a way that gave her an old-fashioned feel. Her school robes covered what she wore but the pin curls she sported in her hair and the Mary Janes on her feet made it almost foolish not to expect a nostalgic lace-trimmed dress underneath.

"Connie, maybe we should get somebody?" another child, a boy this time, said as he edged into a sprint at full tilt toward the castle steps.

I started and almost called after him to ask what the hell had happened, but it nulled, unnecessary, as he stopped just short of the bottom step. I almost breathed with relief when he turned back to his friends; but then I saw why he'd stopped short. Someone had stepped out from behind the double front doors of the castle and had already come half way down the steps when I caught sight of the silver badge on his chest. Prefect. Should I have recognized him?

He stood tall and had an average build to him – wide shoulders and solid looking. His skin seemed a bit fairer than mine and shot a stark contrast with his jet-black hair, which he wore parted on one side, and his black robes. They fit him a bit loosely – second hand, probably – but did not detract from the confidence and authority he exuded. Said confidence and authority evident on his statuesque features as he approached, looked tinged, too, with curiosity.

Obviously more curious than alarmed, this guy's presence calmed me because it showed that he didn't consider me a threat. You can understand, then, why it shocked the hell out of me when he whipped his wand out, lightning fast, and came to halt but five feet from me.

"Get inside and get a teacher," he said in a clear voice to the children and they did not hesitate to obey, not even the girl, who'd had the guts to approach a dirty, wet and possibly dangerous stranger, Connie. When they'd gotten a bit away from us, he moved closer and asked, "How have you come to this castle?"

His voice hadn't raised even half an octave but I flinched and trembled as if he'd yelled. "P-please," I said and winced at the pain in my throat. But I had no time for weakness. Or maybe I did seeing as I didn't even know if I still had my wand. "Please, I don't know. I have no idea how I got here. I just – woke up – at the bottom of the lake – on the other side – I swear." I'd definitely talked too fast and frantic but if it fazed him he didn't show it.

His eyes merely flicked past me and out to the lake behind me as if it would give a sign that I had dropped in or that a door suddenly had appeared there. One perfectly arched eyebrow lifted and his eyes fell back onto me. "Who are you?"

"My name is Thalia."

"Do you even know where you are?" he asked with half sincere curiosity it seemed as his eyes held an odd glint that didn't echo in his too polite voice.

I nodded. "Hogwarts. I'm in my fifth year – well, I will be in September. But I don't know what's happening. One minute I was with my dad and the next –."

"Tom?"

The air escaped my lungs in a rush at the sound of that voice and I couldn't bring myself to look. _No way…._

"Professor Dumbledore. Thank goodness. It seems we…have a guest," he, Tom apparently, said, lowering his wand and curiously tensing up.

"Yes, I see. Is she hurt?" Dumbledore, who came up behind Tom, asked. Only he didn't look anything like Dumbledore. Well, he did but a bit different. He had a shorter beard of an auburn color like the hair on head. His face seemed less lined and both of his hands appeared healthy and whole. Oh yeah, and he carried on with the process of _living_ rather better than the last time I'd seen him.

I knew I'd spent the last few seconds gawking and didn't care. _What. The. Fuck?_ Nothing else seemed to have the ability to penetrate my mind just then.

"She seems to be fine apart from frightened, but the trembling only seems to have gotten worse, Professor. Shall we take her to the infirmary?" Tom asked, that curiously over-polite tone coloring his voice.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as he now turned his eyes to mine and bore into me with them. There existed nothing in the cosmos that I could want more than to get as far away from this guy _now_. I didn't care if I got sent to Azkaban for breaking into Hogwarts without even knowing how if it meant getting away from his bad vibes. But of course, as _my_ luck stood at hand, that didn't seem likely to happen.

"Yes, immediately. Can you walk, Miss?" Dumbledore had stepped as close as half a foot from me and crouched level with me.

I didn't even get a chance to answer before Tom came to my side as well and crouched lithely, saying, "Professor, I think it would be best if she didn't try to force herself too much. She does look extremely weak." Again, his eyes bore into mine, but with less intensity so that he looked almost human again. "I'll carry you, Miss. Is that alright?" He stowed his wand conspicuously, showing he meant no harm, and then slowly offered his hand.

I understood then why my friends and family have always thought of me as the epitome of naivety. My instincts screamed at me to decline his hand, to move away from him as fast as possible in any way that I could. But I didn't listen to them. Slowly, almost collapsing due to the weight transferring all onto one arm – only upper body weight, mind – I reached to accept the helping hand from the eerily chivalrous young man before me. Funny. I'd expected his hand to feel cooler to the touch. His appearance gave every sign that his skin, pale and smooth, would feel just as cool as the porcelain it seemed mimic. But no. He felt warm, his skin soft – rougher than mine, but softer than the stone I'd expected.

He gripped my hand firmly yet gently and slipped his left arm around my waist (I suppressed a shiver) and rose, lifting me so that I barely stood on my feet and then maneuvering me so that I now rested cradled in his arms. I tried to lessen the panic coursing through me by shifting myself a bit so as to not feel like he'd soon carry me over a threshold. I now had my right arm over his shoulder and my left arm rested against my abdomen. It didn't help.

"Please ask Madame Marche to allow you to stay with her until I return. There is a small matter that needs to be attended to before this one can be given my full and undivided attention." He smiled that twinkly eyed smile, turned on the spot and walked briskly toward the castle.

I panicked. Why would he leave me alone with this psycho? I'd only let him carry me because I thought Dumbledore would stay there and he wouldn't dare do anything with him so close. But that nulled now. Didn't Dumbledore get that trust remained too fragile to just give to anyone? Hadn't he learned from…getting killed?

And the focus of my panic switched away from the charming, apparently trustworthy young man who held me firmly to his chest as he fell in stride behind the auburn haired wizard, who, by all accounts that I can remember, never looked like that in my lifetime and had supposed died. My focus landed there: Dumbledore, young and whole – mostly; no tomb; no Whomping Willow; …pin curl hair-dos and Mary Janes, chivalry and politeness…. What the hell happened? How had I gotten here? None of it made sense to me.

* * *

><p>In the infirmary, the matron, a kindly, plump woman, fussed over me as if I'd dragged myself into the Hospital Wing with just my arms from some battle and had only moments to live. She spoke to Tom all flustered up like she thought him some kind of hero for having carried me here and even chided me some when I practically jumped out of his arms and onto the bed. His reined in martyrdom while he explained that he understood my frightened and confused state made me want to throw my shoe at him. Between the two of them they had me grinding my teeth and counting to ten over and over with their treating me like glass. It made me miss Madame Pomfrey's get-over-it attitude so much.<p>

When satisfied with my newly dried and groomed state, she gave me a sip of the Draught of Peace in her stores and thanked Tom for the millionth time. She, as displayed most annoyingly to me, presented as very taken with him. It made me want to vomit.

"May I?" he asked in his honey tone, gesturing to a chair at the foot of my bed.

"But of course, dear, it'll clear me up to get some work done and I know _you'll_ take good care of her," she said, already closing the door of her office behind her as Tom dragged the seat to my right side and sat.

I huffed.

He smiled the same smile he'd given her while she hero-worshipped him. Blech!

"You don't have to stay, you know. I'm pretty sure I won't die if you leave," I said btingly.

His serenity didn't falter. He _enjoyed_ this. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to stay with you until he could attend to you himself," he said with an indulgent little bow of his head in my direction. "I imagine a great deal must be discussed. From what you were saying, this seems to be a very _unique_ situation." His emphasis on the word 'unique' accompanied an unnerving quirk of the brow and the tiniest of smirks pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to remember what I'd said exactly. Mere minutes had passed but with so much to take in – Dumbledore alive, weird old fashioned styles making a comeback, and _here_ – it felt like hours ago that I'd babbled too fast at Tom, pleading for an explanation.

"You told me that you'd just been with your father and that you didn't have any idea of how you'd gotten here," he stated, repeating my words to me with a slightly sarcastic accusatory tone. The brightness in his black eyes unsettled me, to say the least, as he continued, his smirk growing a bit wider. "You also said that this was to be your fifth year here at Hogwarts in September…. It _is_ September and it's rather funny that I'm in my fifth year now yet I've never seen you." He paused, that shiny glint making his eyes dance with suppressed glee, and savored the effect trapping me with my own words had on me.

_Shit. Why did I have to freak out and blab? Christ, I'd though he'd be helpful not sadistic!_ You could not confide in this guy no matter how confused and terrified you feel, apparently. The effects of the Draught of Peace didn't even get a chance to kick in and I already started panicking again. Not only did I still not know what had happened but now a child of the freaking corn wanted to use that against me. For what? No clue. I just got that feel from him.

I bit my lip and looked away from him, afraid to give anything else away, but his smugness practically radiated off of him. It made me nervous and I had no idea why.

The Wing door opened then and Dumbledore came in and strode quickly to my side.

Tom's smugness seemed to deflate as his eyes found Dumbledore and gave way to polite curiosity.

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle. For your help and patience, twenty points to Slytherin."

"No way!" I whipped my head around to look at him so fast that my neck gave a small crick. But it stared right out at me, clear as day right under his Prefect badge: the emblem of Slytherin House. My jaw practically hit the floor.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, standing and tilting his head to one side questioningly.

Tearing my glare from his chest and moving it to his face, I screwed my face up in what I deemed 'polite indifference'. "No, it's just that I never expected anyone who was in Slytherin to be so helpful – _nice_ even." Forcing a small smile, I tried for cockiness with this statement, wanting to fit into traditional modes of thought as much as possible so as to not come off as even odder than I already did.

He breathed a soft chuckle and shook his head. "Today is just _full_ of surprises for you isn't it?"

I didn't answer him or his laughter, hearing the cynicism in his words.

"Off you go, Tom. Dinner starts soon," Dumbledore told him, eying him cagily over his half-moon spectacles. Could he have heard it too? Always the smartest person I knew (and that included Granger), I really wouldn't put it past him to know more than he let on. That thought calmed me: wherever the hell I'd landed myself now, at least Dumbledore accompanied me.

Unless….

"Yes, Professor, good evening." With that, Tom left.

The new wave of panic at Tom's analysis of my words swelled even more in my chest and I whimpered softly as Dumbledore came around the bed and sat where Tom had. Had I died? Is that why I could see Dumbledore – why girls wore Mary Janes again and why boys still lived up to the knight in shining armor crap? Had I gone where all the dead things went? Another whimper escaped me and I couldn't hold back anymore. "Am I dead, Professor?"

A look of amused confusion flashed across his face followed quickly by understanding and then by his soft yet prolonged chuckle.

Not understanding what he found so funny, I simply stared at him with a look of panic set on my face. _What the hell is he laughing at?_ I guess my increasing annoyance made itself evident because he became calm again very quickly.

"I am sorry, dearest Thalia. It is just so rare to hear something like this from you. I take it, then, that I've died again?" He awaited a response patiently as I absorbed what he just said.

_"I take it, then, that I've died again?" How the hell…? Is he…? Am I…? But his hair…. Where _am_ I? _I could only finish that thought. The rest got swept up in the whirlwind of questions, thoughts and explanations that wreaked mega havoc on my head. Breathing slowly, measured, I nodded. It stood as only the truth and in exchange I hoped for at least as much.

He nodded thoughtfully and clasped his hands together in front of him on his lap. "I see. Nothing has changed, then…." Silence fell between us while he mulled this over and I continued my measured breathing. After a few tense moments, he looked up at me, smiling! "I truly marvel at your perseverance, Thalia. I wonder, have you ever thought that perhaps the very things you come to stop are fated to happen?"

I had no idea what he meant by "_the very things you come to stop_", but I _did_ have an answer for him. "There's _no fate_ but –"

"– what _we make_," he finished for me, still smiling. He shook his head as if confronted with a tantrum throwing two-year-old and sighed. "I _truly_ admire you. This old man, obviously, _still_ has much to learn – or to remember – from those very young hearts." He sighed again and met my perplexed gaze. "I can imagine how confused you are, it being already – " he pulled out a pocket watch that didn't have numbers around the face's edge but planets instead "– a little more than half an hour since you've arrived and you still have not recounted what you believe to have gone wrong on your last circuit."

My eyebrows pulled together and I lost the count of the measured breaths. That last straw on my psychological back broke it. "_What?_" The word echoed in the elongated, high ceilinged room many times before he spoke again:

"It was never like this at the start, not even the first time." Still so wrapped up in his own train of thought, however confusing it presented to me, he totally ignored my outburst. "But I am very sure that this confusion – or perhaps it is a lapse in memory – whatever it is will pass. I should expect nothing less of someone so stubborn and so very, very brave." He surveyed me over his half-moon spectacles, watching me struggle to absorb his words.

I could only shake my head disbelievingly and try to hold back the tidal wave of fear, anger and confusion that threatened to overcome me.

"Tell me what happened," he said softly, almost comprehendingly as if he could feel me losing it and giving me something to grasp onto as the truth.

Reining in my emotions, I took a deep breath and funneled my thoughts into a somewhat coherent stream. "I was with my father in this room with a bunch of clocks and – and two Death Eaters and –"

"The same exact trigger as the first time? How could that be?" His own eyebrows pulled together in confusion and he drummed his fingers on his knuckles.

"Will you explain _please_ what is going on? Professor… you're dead. I'm not saying I'm not glad to see you again, but how in Merlin's left –"

"You don't remember?" he interjected, the lines on his forehead getting thrown into deeper relief with worry.

"Not a damned thing!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "What's happening, sir? Why am I here?" My voice broke on 'here' and instantly my eyes welled up with tears, the tidal wave finally taking over. Pulling my knees to my chest and burying my face in them, I let the silent sobs rack through me.

What the fuck did he mean? What 'first time'? What am I supposed to have remembered? Had something like this happened before? It certainly seemed so the way he talked, and it seemed to have happened with _me_! All that stuff about me getting over this shock because of my bravery and stubbornness (well, there he got something right) posed total bullshit. Who the hell could get over this?

A few minutes passed before I felt the bed sink slightly on my right and heard him say, "The hand dealt to you is more than any grown witch or wizard could handle. It's not fair to ask a fifteen-year-old to deal with this."

Sniffling and wiping my eyes with the sleeves of the robes Madame Marche had given me, I looked up at him. "What _is_ this?"

"It is the fate you've made for yourself, Thalia. You have chosen to do this – chosen to accept this life."

"But _what_ life is this? What am I supposed to remember? What do you mean the same trigger as the first time?" I let my shoulders slump and let my head fall into my hands. Raking my hands through my hair and forcing back the swelling wave, I steadied my nerves, preparing for whatever he'd say. When my nerves stopped trying to give me a heart attack, I looked back up at him expectantly.

His stared intently at me for a few seconds before getting up and walking to the foot of my bed, his robes sweeping the floor behind him. With his back still to me, he spoke. "The first time you came here, Thalia, you were very much the same young lady that sits in this very room. You were possibly just as scared or even more so, though I'd wager on even more considering you knew then what you don't know now." He turned to face me, a solemn expression on his face. "But you'd chosen then and said that you would always choose the same, no matter how unfair it was."

My silent plea for further explanation did not go unnoticed.

He complied, "You are a Traveler. You were born with the unique physiological and mental compliances that true Time Travel requires. You attract the truest forms of Time and manipulate it by entering its continuums that surround you." He walked forward and lowered himself back into the chair, not breaking the eye contact. "You see, there are several instances of a given moment in play at the same time – parallel time lines, if you will. A Traveler can jump from one to the other if he or she so chooses. He or she can also manipulate the outcome of a chosen line through his or her own actions. You have done both. But something seems to have gone wrong…or perhaps it was by choice?" He fell thoughtfully silent again but for less time and then continued. "When you made this choice, you knew what it entailed. You knew what you were choosing versus what you were not. I wonder if you had given up during the last circuit and perhaps that is why you cannot seem to remember any of this. A strong decision could affect your memory and of course it would be warranted – one can grow very tired of repetition and thus choose the easier way out."

"Which is?" I asked, surprising even myself at how steady my voice came out. I'd followed along as best as I could to what he told me. It all pretty much sounded as farfetched as anything I'd ever seen, but then again Time Travel stood as nothing new despite how exclusive he made this 'Traveler' thing sound.

"Death," he said simply.

I flinched slightly at the word. "_That's_ the choice I had? Go back in Time or die? What the hell?"

"It _is_ unfair –"

"– you're damned skippy it is!" I yelled, pissed off now. "What the hell? Why did I have to be born a _Traveler_?" I sneered at the word as if it had done me a great personal wrong. "If someone wanted me to go back in Time, why couldn't they just give me a Time Turner? It's the same shit isn't it?" I looked at him, feeling the rage and sadness battling each other within me. I already knew what this would lead to if not the specifics of it. Death remained, no matter what, too terrifying of an idea for me to even consider choosing it over whatever else.

He shook his head sadly. "Time Turners can only go back hours at a time, and, yes, they do each contain a small bit of true Time so as to function but it is not as true Time functions. They cannot imitate how true Time _really_ functions – it is too intricate and can be deadly even to Travelers let alone those who are not as equipped. Only they can harness Time's true capabilities but as such are susceptible to Time's cruelest effects."

Again, I let my head fall into my hands resignedly. "So either way, I die. Great."

"Some would say that that isn't the worst part."

"Like who?"

"You."

I raised my head, met his gaze and scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "What could be worse than dying on a mission for someone else? Getting lost?" I asked bitingly, not caring how rude I came off as.

"Do you know how many times you've been born, Thalia?" he asked, his eyes suddenly dark.

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and shook my head.

"Your birthday has always been April 28th, 1982…each of the seven times you've been born."

I inhaled sharply, burning my throat slightly but still managed to speak. "Seven…? Born again and again?"

He nodded solemnly. "You are fifteen years old in many ways, but in the only way that will someday matter you are even older than I am this year."

I could feel my face twisting in disbelief. "Older…than…you…?"

He nodded, a small smile spreading across his lips then. "I am sure it will all come back to you. When it does, we can answer the questions that have arisen and the ones that have resurfaced for you."

Easy enough to interpret: I wouldn't get my answers yet and instead of flying into a rage or crying, I took it. After so much crying already, I knew I probably couldn't take to hear all of it anyway. Sighing, I laid back onto my pillows, pressing my fists to my eyes in an attempt to clear my head. Once I got as close to that as I could, I sat up again. "Professor?" I asked hesitantly, not all together confidant that I could handle the answer to the question at my lips. But I _really_ needed to know.

"Hmmm?" He looked at me as though nothing could interest him more than my silly little question. After all, I felt pretty certain, again, that Dumbledore knew _a lot_ more than he let on, which, right now, stood as all of it.

"I'm in the past?"

He nodded. "The past as relative to the time that you were born and raised in, yes."

"_Where_ in the past? How did I get here? Can you answer me that?"

"As you know, this is Hogwarts. The date is Thursday September 3rd, 1942. It is always the same and you always come up through the lake. It's your point of origin – the point you chose to start the loop from on every circuit, that is to say, every time you come back and go through this process again."

"But _why_? I mean, what's so important that I have to do it over and over?" I huffed, frustrated, throwing my hands up to emphasize this. "I've seriously been to 1942 seven times?"

"Ten times actually, but six times you've been through this loop and now this is the seventh time just starting. Usually, by now, you're well into planning the strategy of this new loop but a serious decision must have been made and the followed by a change of heart for this lapse in memory to occur in you."

I grimaced, feeling confusion trying to push through again. "Can't I just go home to my…?" I trailed off, remembering the year: 1942. Dad's surname hadn't even come into existence yet. Breathing a heavy sigh, I shook my head in defeat.

"You could just run the circuit and sit back and watch. You don't have to do anything even when you finally remember, it's not mandatory. But you will be returning to the same time that you just left, no changes having been made whatsoever, which is what, I am so very proud to assure you, you've worked for all this time."

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I already felt so tired and really annoyed by all this hero of Time shit. "What changes? What is so bad that I needed to change it or at least try to six damned times?"

"Can you think of nothing?" he asked, raising one graying eyebrow and cocking his head slightly to one side.

Obviously I could. What idiot couldn't see that I'd rather my father not come so close to Death in 1997? But the only way to change that stood as going back to 1997 myself and helping him – 1942 Hogwarts didn't have shit to do with that! _What the hell am I supposed to find here? _The question resounded in my head angrily as I mulled through the rest of my thoughts: _Fucking Traveler shit! What the _hell_ does this have to do with _anything_? My dad's on the hit list of every Death Eater out there and the only one responsible for that mess is Voldemort – him and his stupid Pure-blooded ideals…._

I scoffed as the most ridiculous thought occurred to me and then got flushed out so quickly I would've sworn it never existed if not for the feeling of stupidity it left me with. Scoffing some more, I re-crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back, scowling.

"Yes?" he pressed, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

I rolled my eyes. "Nothing, it's stupid – crazy."

"Try me."

I eyed him, measuring the response I'd get from him. He'd always demonstrated his kindness by listening to me back in the 90's, no matter how farfetched my side of the story. I figured things hadn't changed, so to tell him the impossibility my mind had cooked up in anger couldn't possibly cause me embarrassment. "Voldemort – I'd kill him. Do you know who he is?"

He nodded. "I do. You've already explained the horrors of your time."

I nodded, remembering he'd seen me before this – six times. I fell into silent fantasies about meeting a much younger, weaker and less intelligent Voldemort here – probably just a kid even – and finishing him as quickly as I could…. _Did he just say he knows the horrors of my time?_ The thought rudely interrupted my day dream and wouldn't stop there. _Why would you have needed to tell him about Voldemort at all…unless…? No way…._ My eyes had probably gone as round as dinner plates and I bet I would have tripped over my own jaw had I taken a step somewhere. "Is he…?" I couldn't finish the question – it posed too much of a coincidence. It just seemed impossible that child Voldemort _existed_ let alone here – at Hogwarts, among other students – and that this had just turned out that easy.

A silent, solemn nod came as his only answer.

"Oh my _God_! How can you _allow_ this? The things he's done – the people he's killed – " I scrambled out of the bed, furious and scared and shaking all at once.

"None of that has happened yet, Thalia," he interjected, raising his hands to silence my oncoming rant. "But the path is there and, from what I've seen and been told to expect, he's approaching fast the point of no return."

I gawked at him, still furious. But then it clicked. "I told you? In another circuit?"

"The first, yes."

Beginning to pace, I gnawed on my sleeve. "But he must be, what, like twelve? How am I supposed to know what he looks like? What am I supposed to do – kill a kid?" As satisfying as the fantasy had seemed moments ago and as tempted as I'd felt to even search the school for the child Voldemort, the idea of hurting a child flat-out disgusted me now. I grimaced and shuddered at my own sadist thoughts.

"Fifteen as of right now and you've already met him," he said, standing and blocking my pace.

I froze. I'd only seen one teenage boy today…. "Riddle," I breathed, my blood turning to ice in my veins. Even if Dumbledore had chosen to speak in that moment, I wouldn't have heard him for the rushing that filled my ears. Deaf to anything but my own rapidly beating heart, I started taking short quick breaths. _He _touched_ me,_ I thought, disgusted, terrified and masochistically amused that he hadn't murdered me then and there. But then I remembered what Dumbledore said: he hadn't done any of the horrible things I'd seen yet. _But he's close_. How close, though? "What has he done?"

"Nothing, yet – nothing of grave consequence anyway. But he is close and I only hope that your memories come back in time for him to be held off." He spoke with an immense sadness that even I felt deep inside me. I had no idea that Voldemort, even as a teenager, posed this much of a threat. I knew Dumbledore, believing that I'd remember what I needed to remember in time, wouldn't tell me what approached. But I also knew it would come big. Too big, even. But I had no choice. I couldn't attribute this to just my fear of Death now…not just for me anyway. Dad and Jorge (my brother) had gotten involved now. For them I said, "I'll do it."


	4. Riding Blind and Winging It

**A/N:** RiddleMeNew your Dumbly question shall be answered here and as for the quess you made...hmmmmm...read on =). Enjoy!

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Three: _Riding Blind and Winging It_**

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><p><em>"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." – J.R.R. Tolkein<em>

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><p>Of course, he'd known all along I'd choose to use this time to my advantage. Why not? If you had the opportunity to negate all the horrible shit that's ever happened to you – to prevent it from ever happening – wouldn't you?<p>

Yeah, a small part of me hated going into this as blind as I had: not knowing what to do or getting any closer to these 'memories' of mine. But a bigger, more angry and yet hopeful part of me didn't mind so much. Dumbledore _did_ say that I wouldn't _stay_ blind. These memories of my past circuits, as he'd put it, would come back and I would know how best to go about this because I can just do the trial and error thing. As nervous as I felt and still a little pissed off that this stood as my destiny, apparently, I understood why I'd lent myself to this vicious circle. I only needed patience and in the meantime I'd try to help my chances of survival by not only getting better at what I could but also by learning and observing as much as I could about teenage Voldemort.

"That's so weird – a teenage Voldemort," I said, climbing back into bed and swinging my legs lightly over the side.

"I know the feeling," he said with an indulgent smile.

I actually laughed a little. "I guess you would. How is it that you remember so easily? Shouldn't whatever I decided have affected you too? Are you a Traveler too?"

"No; I am more of a guide, one could say. That is what I was given to understand on the first time at least. And I do believe that I was affected, but because I'm _not_ a Traveler, my memories do not have to adhere to the stricter laws of Time that yours do and, therefore do not carry the weight of consequence. They can be considered a sort of déjà vu. _Your_ memories, however, are subject to all basic laws and the stricter ones that dictate your memories carry the weight of consequence because you are a Traveler. Since your actions are the ones that matter as manipulator, this falls to you and would mean a longer wait for remembering because you have to pull them back from the opposite direction in which they'd been sent at your decision to give up in the last circuit."

"I gave up?" I asked, feeling a little ashamed but at the same time thinking it a somewhat good idea….

"It seems so. But I cannot be sure until you remember properly. It does seem to be the only explanation for this strange turn of events: your loss of memory and the trigger for the continuum being the same as the very first time."

I groaned. Of course this wouldn't get any easier. Time Travel didn't even feign 'easy'.

He gave me a sad look and said, "I know I haven't been much help –" He held up a hand to deter my protest "– but I am very sure that you will face the challenge wonderfully, and I can assist you in one thing at least without being confusing."

I sighed, nodding. "If not wonderfully then at least head on – that much I'm determined to do. I have to fix this…. And help from you is more than I can even ask for to be honest." I looked into his eyes, green into blue, and hoped that he saw that I meant it. I'd spoken very rudely to him in my panic and wouldn't like for him to think of me that way. Having always spoken on good terms with him and with his patience, I'd come off as very ungrateful in my own eyes.

A smile later, he reached into his robes and pulled out a rope thick, silver chain from which hung a tiny hourglass.

"I thought you said Time Turners were essentially useless to me," I commented, my eyebrows pulling together.

"Manmade Time Turners hold no use to you, yes. But this is no manmade Time Turner," he told me, holding it out to me. I took it and he continued. "It is one of a kind, fashioned by Father Time himself with sand from your glass."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Something else I need to remember, I assume."

"You assume correctly. "

Upon inspection, I didn't really see a difference between this Time Turner and the others I'd seen apart from the sand. Filled mostly on the top side with glittering blue-ish sand instead of the white sand usually used on these, it really stood out quite beautiful. I felt something bumpy around the edge of the base. Raising it to the light, I saw an inscription in what looked like Latin. "Tempus…monstrabit…?"

"'Time will tell'," he said, observing me.

As soon as the words left his lips, I began to feel strange. My chest tightened and an incredibly sad nostalgia-like feeling invaded me. But it felt odd – like it didn't belong to me or…I don't know. It felt as if someone had projected an alien set of emotions – disillusion, sadness, betrayal – onto me. When I felt my eyes growing moist, I shoved the chain back at Dumbledore, positive that it had caused the nostalgia.

Shaking his head somberly, he said, "You must keep it with you at all times. It is the only mark of time passing and your only way home."

"But it just –"

"I know. You are remembering and it will get stronger."

Breathing hard through my nose and blinking back the moisture, I shook my head but retracted my hands all the same. "What now?" I asked, laying the chain over my head and leaving it to rest around my neck with the tiny hourglass tucked safely behind my shirt.

"Your course schedule," he said and conjured a square of parchment with a flick of his wand. "Your request was to be put in as many classes with Mr. Riddle as possible more specifically Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ah, that reminds me. Here you are." He handed me the parchment and then reached in his robes again, pulling out my wand this time.

I couldn't even respond or react to this at this point. I felt beyond shocked. "For safe keeping?" I eventually asked, taking the 10 ¼ inch holly and dragon heartstring wand that he handed me and rolling it between my fingers.

"Yes."

I nodded, conceding that it made perfect sense.

"You're taking all of this rather well," he commented.

I shrugged. "No choice. I know myself, Professor and obviously you do too. I can see it in the way you've handled me – let my rudeness slide. You and I both know that even if it doesn't make full sense now, the one thing that I do know and will make all the difference can only be fortified by whatever I remember. My choice will be the same because the hatred is still there…." I trailed off into silence, wondering how his words had turned to reality and realizing with a smirk that it rested on me – on my hard-headedness – not bravery like he said.

He smiled warmly and nodded. "Hatred is a strong word. Perhaps things will change."

"Pssh – yeah maybe," I said, sarcasm dripping from every one of my orifices.

Another warm smile and he stood. "Well, it was worth a try. Now, would you like to be shown to your dormitory or do you think you can find it on your own?"

I raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "I'm still in Gryffindor?"

"Of course. Did you think your traits would change just because you went back fifty years?" he asked with a slightly patronizing air as if this question made my ridiculousness show.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Well, at least that's the same."

My name: Thalia Espinoza; Born and raised in northern Spain; Home schooled until last summer. My parents, both militants in the protests against limitations put on the school Culebreos Escuela De Talentos Mágicos, both Pure-bloods. I attended only one year as a favor to my parents until it closed its doors permanently in June due to a raid by the Spanish Ministry of Magic for teaching Dark magic to students. Both parents ended up dead in the ensuing short battle and I had to run and try to blend into Muggle society to escape penalization by association. But as I'd grown up in an entirely magical home, I couldn't deal properly and so got spotted by Muggles, branded a _gitana*_ and as such had to flee the country before the alarm could sound. I'd come to London on a whim and when I found out about Hogwarts, a place where I could finish my studying and get fully qualified as a witch, which would mean a clean slate in my country because Hogwarts didn't teach Dark magic, I took the first chance I could. Professor Dippet had allowed special conditions for me, but had instructed that I keep it a secret until such time that I could properly integrate into Hogwarts, which explained why I had lied to Riddle about how I got here and why I'd come off as so afraid that he'd tell I'd lied….

Dumbledore had told me to this shit and it read like a police report. Parts of it presented true. Obviously Espinoza doesn't come from England. I did need to cover something up and Headmaster Dippet had even met with me before I left the infirmary where I told this bullshit story and he had made these special conditions. So I didn't feel too guilty, but definitely nervous that I'd get caught. I'd just have to rely on the stories my dad had told me a long time ago about the school in Spain. Yes, it had existed and yes it did teach the Darkest magic for a while but I knew nothing else.

I sighed, staring up at the bright moon through the window next to my four-poster that night. Thinking of Dad opened the gates behind which I'd locked the thoughts I'd repressed. Trying to take comfort in his unborn-ness felt like trying to take comfort in a seatbelt that remained in a car when the breaks had already failed. Things seemed okay now, but what about later? What would happen? I sighed again and tried thinking of other people. It worked. I thought of my mom, Thalia Marielena, and it didn't hurt as much. I'd never met her – didn't have a fucking clue where she'd ended up. A Muggle, she couldn't deal, so she left. But I didn't hold it against her. In fact, I didn't hold much of anything for her. I knew at least a tiny part of me should feel angry at least, but not even that. Like she didn't exist – like my dad had gotten me from the stork, she represented nothing more than a zero to the left and it didn't hurt to wonder if she'd died yet….

Rolling over onto my side, I scoffed. _No more thinking. Sleep. Big freakin' day tomorrow…. Ugh…._

"So how did you learn to speak English so quickly?"

Rolling my eyes over my eggs the next morning and wishing I'd just skipped breakfast, I turned to face the chatterbox who'd followed me down from our dormitory and hadn't stopped talking even to eat. She'd already informed me that she, Emily Brown (yeah, she's Lavender's great aunt or something. I could tell by the nose and the excessive chattering.), felt 'sooooo excited' to welcome me here. She had explained, without necessity, much about Hogwarts. Now, she'd moved on to me. Finishing chewing the mouthful of eggs, I said, "Inglés sin Barreras," and snorted with laughter when her smile faltered with confusion. "Just kidding. I've, um, picked it up. I guess I just have a knack for it."

She nodded, looking absolutely thrilled. I cannot put into words how badly I wanted to laugh, but I settled for returning her smile and just answering all her questions with nods, monosyllabic words or noncommittal noises. She didn't get put off by that and I deemed her alright.

When I finished eating, about fifteen minutes still remained to the bell, so I decided to cash in my 'I'm-new-and-don't-know-anything' card. "So who's who around here?" I asked, getting straight to the point.

She had the decency to look properly nonplussed until I raised an eyebrow skeptically and she jumped right into it.

"Fourth years and below have no real names other than the younger siblings of those in our year and above. Let's see," she said, craning her neck to look around at our table first. "Robert Blishwick is our year – right over there –" She gestured with her head a few seats down and continued when I'd seen who she'd meant "– he's charming, lovely and very smart. His father's very high up the political ladder," she added when I didn't nod in understanding. When I did, she moved on. Naming names turned out a talent of hers as did discretion, which helped as I 'd already gotten stares from everyone around me. Only the Gryffindor students kept it to a minimum, though I didn't know whether because they felt like acting considerate to their new Housemate or didn't want to get caught staring at the new, transfer student who coincidentally and supposedly grew up getting trained in the Darkest of magic.

She pointed out a lot of the ancestors of Pure-bloods in my time. _Duh,_ I chided myself. _Did you think that blood status meant less on the side of the Time line that was when this mess started?_

"Nott, Avery, Malfoy, Mulciber, Black and Lestrange, none of them have any real talent. Not unless you count rich fathers. They all just ride Tom Riddle's coat tails anyway. _He_, at least, is _truly_ intelligent," she gushed, craning her neck again to spot him at the Slytherin table between Nott and Mulciber and across from Malfoy. I'd spotted him as soon as I walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. She turned back to me and gushed some more. "He's really a _nice_ boy."

I cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Is that so?" _Here we go,_ I thought. _All hail Tom Riddle! Swoon! Swoon!_

She blushed faintly but nodded, carrying on. "He is. It's so sad, though. He's so brave."

Fighting against the urge to roll my eyes, I shifted in my seat and threw a glance Riddle's way. "What's so sad?"

She gave a pitying look his way and said, "He's an _orphan_. Oh, but it makes no difference," she provided quickly. "He's so smart, polite and _very_ talented. Top of our year if not the whole school," she said, nodding very seriously.

"Ah," I said and then turned to drink some pumpkin juice so as to not see the look she'd surely given me. _Of course,_ I thought. _He's the school charity case and _enjoying_ it, the prick._

Over at the Slytherin table, Riddle stood and walked toward the entrance to the marble staircase, quickly followed by his little friends – future Death Eaters.

Scoffing, I sipped once more at the goblet of juice.

"What?" Emily asked, narrowing her eyes at me, I saw from the corner of my eye.

I smirked. "Don't worry. I'm not going to pick on your precious jewel –" She blushed furiously "– it's just – I don't know if bravery has much to do here –"

"He's an _orphan_!" she hissed between her clenched teeth.

It did nothing. "So? I know plenty of orphans – I _am_ an orphan –" I realized with a horrible lurch of the stomach that this stood true now. I shook my head to clear it and continued. "They don't think themselves brave and neither do I. People die every day and sometimes they leave kids behind. It's just something you deal with. No bravery required – just determination."

She blinked and her indignant look disappeared and gave way to one of hurt and confusion. "_I_ think you're brave."

_Shit._ I sighed, starting over. "Sorry. Thanks, really. I'm not sure why you think that, but I should respect that you do."

She smiled meekly and shook her head. "No, it's okay. You're entitled to your opinion. You are woman, hear you roar!" She giggled at her own joke, which reminded me swiftly where the hell I'd ended up. "I guess it just shocked me. You're the first person I've heard say anything against Tom – first _girl_ especially!"

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I could tell," I teased.

She bypassed red and turned scarlet. "It is that obvious?"

"No, not at all," I said, shaking my head and repressing laughter.

"Oh, be quiet," she chided, smiling. "What's your first class?"

I sighed. "History of Magic with Slytherin."

"Oh. Ew. How about second period?"

Here, I perked up. "Defense Against the Dark Arts." I smiled but she kept looking at me like some martyr. "What's wrong?"

"You like that class? I find it kind of boring. I just don't see why we –" She gestured to each of us in turn "– even have to bother with it. I mean, as long as we marry strong and skilled…" she trailed off at the look I gave her.

I don't think she expected me to laugh, which let me know she'd misread my incredulity. She'd probably thought I felt offended because I'd have had to use a lot of defensive magic with the past that I supposedly had. But I merely felt tickled by her thoughts on the subject. _1942: the age of the fragile and weak women. Oh, this will be fun, _I thought. "Relax," I told her. "You didn't offend me. I just feel anybody should be able to defend themselves…from what's out there. You know, I am woman, hear me roar!"

She giggled weakly, "You're…different, Thalia…. I think you're mad," she said and breathed a soft yet hysteric kind of laugh.

"I think you like it," I said, smirking. "You should at least _try_ to participate fully in the class. You'll see it can actually be fun to learn to take care of yourself. Besides what if the man you marry turns out to be nothing more than a coward?" Grabbing my bag, I stood, wanting to beat the bell.

She followed me out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase, but didn't say a word until we reached the landing. "How will I know a man is a coward? How do I avoid that?"

Taken aback, I stopped walking. She'd actually listened to what I said and moreover had thought about it and how to avoid it. I sort of had expected her to think about it, yes, but not to ask me how to go about it. I really didn't know how to answer her because it didn't just entail what she could do to defend herself. No, this, whether she knew it or not, posed a question about who she should fall in love with. That came nowhere near my forte. I'd never considered it – never looked deeper than a friendship with a guy and it didn't matter if friends turned out cowardly. Those ties got easily severed. But love? Husbands and prospects for husbands in the age of the arranged marriages – Emily, a Pure-blood, would have her marriage arranged for her anyway – how? How could I give her advice that, one, I did not have and two, even if I did have it, would make no difference?

"I guess it's like everything else: follow your heart and if it turns out wrong, then at least you're prepared. See you, Emily." I rushed off, leaving her with her mouth slightly open, and tried to clear my head. It got easier as I got closer to the History of Magic classroom and the looming idea of spending an entire period with the Slytherins – with Riddle – cleared my head of all reflection on love and my lack of opinion on it. Outside the classroom, I leaned against the stone wall and looked around at the other students.

Riddle's coat-tail riders, as Emily had put it, stood there already, lined up against the opposite wall in the corridor from the Gryffindors. But Riddle, although he'd left with them didn't. My eyebrows pulled together slightly but I wrote off the incongruity as him taking a bathroom break or possibly helping first years to their classes still. His friends looked deep in conversation with one another and every now and then one of them would look up and over the shoulder of the one across from him.

I scoffed and turned toward the classroom again, almost pissing my pants when I came face to face with Riddle who stood a mere foot away from me. Recovering and breathing slowly to slow my heart and get it back into my chest where it belonged, I said, "God, you scared me."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice even and coated lightly with an apologetic tone and his eyes reflecting the same emotion. Anyone here would have believed it, too. I almost did. "I just wanted to properly welcome you here to Hogwarts now that you're better, Miss Espinoza."

I cringed. "Ugh, please, call me Thalia."

"Alright. Thalia. Welcome."

I nodded, the cringe still twisting my mouth disgustedly. "Right. Thanks." The look he gave me, one of survey and interest but not like yesterday's, reminded me that I'd promised to try to make nice with him. Suppressing a sigh, I said, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not being gracious or grateful, am I?"

His answering indulgent smile let me know I'd twisted my face correctly to look apologetic. "It's quite alright. Professor Dippet explained to us, the Prefects, what happened. I understand the change can be difficult and assimilation not much easier."

I nodded, a bit peeved at his understanding. That part of me that kept reminding me why I'd decided to do this wished desperately that he would try to do something wrong so I could have an excuse to curse him. "Yeah, it's… a bit scary."

Another understanding nod brought a new light into his black eyes. "I can only imagine." I thought his lip trembled then, but it lasted only for half a second. "Well, I hope it becomes easier as the time passes and that you will consider our Hogwarts a home," he said with a small, sincere smile.

"Thank you. I'm sure I will adjust quickly." I'd spoken barely a whisper, a little thrown off by his kindness still and the little lip tremble, but he'd heard it. With another smile, he opened the classroom door and gestured for me to enter before him.

A smile in return tugged at my lips and I walked through to sit quickly in a seat near the back. My heart beat a little faster than normal but I didn't get as scared as before because this meant essentially what I wanted: he took a notice in me and draw closer. _Well, close to it anyway,_ I thought as he walked past me and sat two seats up from me. In a matter of seconds the class filled. A black haired, recklessly handsome boy that looked uncomfortably familiar sat on Riddle's right, tilting the chair back on its hind legs, while the seat on his left soon seated Lestrange in it. Immediately they began talking softly to one another, voices inaudible over the chatter that the other students brought in. But my attention got ripped from them by a haughty sounding female voice saying in a whisper that carried, "They say she's Pure-blood from Spanish lines – do you know any Spanish families?"

If I'd come into this world as a dog, my ears would have perked right up at this. _I wonder who they're talking about,_ I thought sarcastically to myself. I didn't turn to see who'd spoken, just ducked down to get my ink, quill and parchment out, straining to hear more.

"No, but she seems proud enough for a Pure-blood. Did you see her trying to flirt with Tom?" Giggles followed this statement, so loud that my snort of laughter drowned in them.

_Ah, gossip, how I adore thee and thy entertaining ways,_ I mused, straightening up in my seat, ready to pretend to take notes, a smirk pulling at my lips. The chatter continued until Binns came in and then his droning voice lulled me into a reverie of thoughts about how to get closer to Riddle. _Is that a good idea right now? You don't know anything about him other than what he will do and that he's powerful. It'd be better to just sit back and watch for now – observe him, find out what he's good at and then get on with the plan…. _What_ plan? _I inhaled deeply and released the breath, accepting the defeat. I had no way of getting close to Riddle now – didn't even _want_ to – but I had to. I had no choice. I would have to wing it.

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><p>gitana* - gypsy<p> 


	5. Now or Never

**A/N: **To my silent readers, thanks for the favs and alerts! Here is chapter 4, I really like this chapter even if it is a bit speedy and awkward just because of the last scene with Thalia. It's so "aww...HAHA" worthy lol. anyways, ya know what to do. ENJOY!

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Four: _Now or Never_**

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><p><em>"As if you could kill time without injuring eternity," – Henry David Thoreau<em>

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><p>From the moment I'd felt the nostalgia hit me in the Hospital Wing, I knew that my memories would come from the tiny hourglass that rested against my chest every minute of every day (yes, I even shower with it – don't judge me). So, I waited for them. And waited. And then waited some more. Two weeks after I came up in the lake, still nothing more had come other than flashes of the sad feelings and every now and then, for no reason apparent to me, lightness came over me. It felt as if nothing could weigh me down. But no more would come even when I spent time just staring at the blue sand filled glass in bed at night. The best that I could come up with was a sharper definition of the sadness, betrayal and disillusion that I'd felt: heartbreak. That intrigued me as much as it freaked me out, so I tried not to think of it too much.<p>

I decided about a week into my stay in 1942 that if these memories didn't hurry up, I might as well just do what I'd said I would: I watched Riddle. Aside from History of Magic, I also had Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts and a free period with him and spent these at a decent distance from him, watching him. I watched him pay attention in class when the teacher also paid attention; I watched him charm almost everyone – especially the Professors and _especially _his Head of House, Slughorn (still round, still collecting big names and talents and still making me lose interest in performing to the best of my ability to avoid being 'collected'); I watched him accept praise with proper modesty; I watched him walk around the school unfazed by the attention he got from _everyone_ (myself now included, unfortunately); I also watched him grasp every concept, theory and notion with incredible ease in class. I watched him prove himself beyond a shadow of a doubt as Hogwarts' crown jewel – revered and even idolized by some.

But I never spoke to him again after that first day of classes. Why? For one, he never lent himself to such instances again after that. He always stayed with his clique and never even threw a glance my way. That made it easier to watch him and not get spotted. But it didn't stop suspicions that had gotten planted on the first day and herein laid the second reason for not speaking to him and how Emily had proven herself a pretty damn decent friend.

Obviously, the words that Riddle and I exchanged outside the classroom that day did not go unnoticed and many took that and turned it into more, especially those two girls who'd started their little gossip train that day. Rose Selwyn and Olivia Greengrass headed the train. Don't get me wrong, a lot of this I found freaking hilarious and kept me more than entertained when I came close to losing it just watching Riddle and analyzing his actions. But everyone has a threshold for annoyingly jealous girls like those two who'd ran straight to the Hospital Wing to have their noses straightened and to re-grow their hair when I got sick of them. Emily swore that night to Professor Merrythought that I'd stayed with her in the library all afternoon and kept me out of detention. Like I said: pretty damn decent.

After that little stunt, I'd gained a lot of enemies but mostly Slytherins so no big deal. However, the stares that I'd received daily lessened in Gryffindor Tower. Recounting requests of the incident left me on a first name basis with a few more people there and that's always pretty awesome, right? It all just seemed pretty funny to me and helped me cope with the insanity of what I put myself through. I only say insanity because I knew I hadn't reacted to the full extent a person should react when given the news that they'd decided to go after the Darkest wizard they'd ever known in life. I'd thought it would hit me sooner or later but come October and the first trip into Hogsmeade a week in, nothing. Nothing, but impatience at waiting for the stupid memories to come already.

It had gotten a bit cold out; the wind howled and blew people's hair into other people's faces, knocked the smaller kids down and other funny things. It panned out as a nice break hanging in the Three Broomsticks with Emily, Eliot and Michael (my biggest fans of the Selwyn-Greengrass thing) and just sipping Butterbeers, not having to stare at Riddle. Well, I never really_ had_ to per se but you know what I mean. I gave myself a break for the day, wanting just to enjoy Hogsmeade again as Dumbledore had asked Dippet to make an exception for me to go.

"You've adjusted well, Thali," Mike said, nudging me lightly in the side.

"I guess. There's not much to do besides that. Plus it's been pretty easy with you guys," I answered, smirking. It stood true enough. Their friendship had provided a nice bonus to this and helped me keep my morale up: some of these people would someday have grandchildren – I knew it – and if I did my job right, they wouldn't ever have to see them suffer.

"With us and staring at Riddle," he goaded.

I shrugged as they all laughed. "What can I say? Even with my – what did you call it, Eliot? My new-aged warped mind? I can still appreciate a good view when I see one." That shut Mike and Eliot up, but Emily kept giggling. So, I looked at her, still smirking broadly and said, "Besides, when in Rome, eh?" Eliot choked on his breath of air and Emily flushed into silence.

All in good fun. I'd let them think I crushed on Riddle like every other female and in return they just cracked on me and then I on them and we'd all laugh. Homeostatic friendship.

Later, when I'd broken away from them to check out Gladrags' in an attempt to give Emily and Eliot some privacy, which failed miserably due to of Mike's lack of sense, I lapsed into the same mode of thought I'd donned for a month.

_So, 'winging it' not going so good…. Well, I've just been doing some reconnaissance – so I can wing it better…. Oh, shut up!_

Grumbling to myself about split personalities, I turned onto High Street and set course for Gladrags up the street. About halfway up, near some rundown little bookshop, one of those rare, lucky, inspirational moments cropped up. Okay, so before I got happy about this, I panicked when I saw Riddle step out of the banged up little shop, turning up the collar of his coat against the wind. But as he walked further up the street on his own, my stomach unclenched and I figured: now or never.

"Tom!" I called, but a howl of the wind drowned my voice out. "Tom!" I called even louder and ran to catch him.

He didn't stop walking but did turn his head toward my voice. "Thalia," he said, cocking an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Hey," I breathed, falling into step beside him and smiling in spite of the rushing in my ears.

He politely returned the smile and slowed his pace a bit. "Enjoying the first trip into Hogsmeade?"

"Uh – y-yeah, it's going great," I supplied with an eager nod. "It's actually quite beautiful here – unlike anything I've seen in a long time…."

He nodded, seeming mildly interested. "I can appreciate what you mean." Slowing down even more so that I bypassed him in a few paces and had to turn back to him, he gave me an expectant look. When I answered his look with a slightly confused one, he inhaled deeply and released the breath in soft, somewhat awkward _whoosh_ from his mouth. Coming to a full stop now, he asked, "Was there something that you wanted?" in an almost rude tone.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the look on his features that turned them from handsome to fear inducing, carefully noted it and filed it away. He bore no more polite smile, just stone, and I faltered, thrown off. "N-no – well…" I inhaled deeply, thankful that I felt so scared now because it would come off as nerves and that'd probably appeal to his ego. "I wondered if…" I exhaled, knowing this would bury the final nail in my social coffin as far as Slytherin…aww hell, as far as _everyone_ was concerned. "…you'd like to join me in a cup of tea?" _ And let the Slytherin retribution for Selwyn and Greengrass begin!_

My heart pounded painfully fast and erratically in my chest and my blood rushed in my ears. I could feel the heat rising in my face and – Christ, this went beyond embarrassing – in my whole body as he just stared at me, no change in his face. It got so much worse so quickly! Tears started to prick the backs of my eyeballs at the thought of what a fool I'd just made of myself – at the thought of what everyone would say after his rejection. I didn't much care when I'd decided that what people thought mattered just that it _did_ matter. I tried to breathe – tried to calm myself (or whatever was left of _me_). I told myself that I'd just 'winged it' and that I'd gotten desperate and _that's_ why I freaked like this. But that all went out the imaginary window when I focused on his face and saw a kind of morbidly amused curiosity mixed with shock or disgust or something form a crease on his forehead. _Oh, _God_!_ I thought and wanted to run and hide and never show my face again.

But then he spoke. "You're bleeding." The crease deepened.

"What?" My voice came out more high pitched than usual.

"Are you feeling faint?" he asked, ignoring my question and stepping forward, his face contorting slightly. He raised his hand and wiped his thumb across my upper lip. I realized that what I had mistaken for sweat beading there was actually blood from my nose and even as he kept talking to me, asking if I felt dizzy or hot or uncomfortable, I could not answer him.

My heart raced against an invisible clock and threatened to burst; the sound of my blood rushing continued to deafen me and my torso constricted making it hard to breathe. I could only stare at him while my body pushed itself into overdrive. My vision took on a sort of vignette quality, darkening at the edges and his face swam before me in a sick imitation of a swaying pendulum. _If you weren't going to try and kill me, my family and everyone like us,_ I thought as my face made contact with the cold asphalt of the road. Apparently I'd fallen but didn't feel pain.

"…up to the castle," I heard him say over me, his voice distorted and garbled.

A small glimpse of the sky above us got blocked out by his face before my vision totally blackened and I drifted off far away, a thought floating along behind me. _…I'd have probably asked you out for real…._


	6. Floored

**A/N:** uuuu new favs and even another review hehe I hope more people are liking this than is being displayed. But the story WILL go on. Ya know what to do =) Enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Five: _Floored_**

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><p><em>"Time is the fire in which we burn." – Delmore Schwartz<em>

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><p>Like watching a movie, seeing the things she remembered, played so strangely in the back of my mind. Like seeing an old friend crossing the street from a distance, I couldn't tell if it belonged to me or not. But the way the old man stared at me from the other end of the aisle told me it did.<p>

"It will be too much all at once," I said to him, barely noticing him coming toward me as I immersed myself in the onslaught of images. I hadn't exaggerated. If _I_ couldn't take it all at once after two hundred and fifty years, how could _she_? "Help her – help me!"

"Stop thinking of it," he commanded in a booming voice.

I obeyed immediately – as much as I could anyway. A few more images slipped by the block I'd put up but I knew they wouldn't hurt or scare her…too much anyway. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I walked out of the aisle and down the side, passing all the encasements as I made my way to the lounge area at the end of the Hall. All the white and crystal unnerved me right now.

"You wouldn't be suffering like this or making her suffer either if you had just let her go last time. Even you were ready to give up," he scolded when I'd slumped into one of the soft, white sofas.

"I was ready to leave _you_, but as that's impossible without killing us, I had no choice but to remember him and make it so I _couldn't_ leave anymore." He sneered and so did I. I'd gotten so sick of his bullshit after all this time. "The final decision was hers anyway, take it up with her."

"The double play doesn't work with me!" Furious, he shouted and banged his scythe on the floor. Every sound already slightly echoed in this Hall, this outburst of his in his powerful and unearthly loud voice resounded and felt like sitting right next to the speakers at a rave. He hated Travelers; he hated anyone who tried to change his lines and not only had she done so on her first attempt, she'd also tried to rip the Fabric of Time on the second circuit and almost succeeded. He'd stopped her then and I got trapped here as a result only able to leave when she finally gives up and accepts Death. Honestly, a very kind man and as easy to live with as me, he jealously protected his laws and refused any changes that would result in rips to his carefully woven Fabric.

"Don't you want to see me gone already?"

"More than you know."

"Then allow it!" I yelled, on my feet now, towering over him. "Allow the only thing that will make me leave."

"It's not the only thing," he countered, standing his ground. "And I haven't _ever_ changed my laws! What makes you think I will for you?"

"Are you so opposed to saving lives?"

"I am only as concerned as you are, young one. _You_ are the only one who will not allow those lives to be saved. And for what? A silly little notion you had when you saw that even with the changes you still had to die – to pay for your own meddling? Millions of lives can be saved without altering the laws or the Fabric. Yours is not destined to be one of them – no matter what you may _think_ or _feel_. Accept it or continue to suffer. _That_ is my final word." One last scathing look and a huff and he turned on his heel and walked away.

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><p><em>I crouched just around the corner of a corridor down in the dungeons. I'd followed Tom and Rose down here after their silent rounds. When they stopped here, I almost walked away, thinking that they'd just give their password and enter. But Rose's "My Lord?" stopped me. She used that title he'd given himself and that tone she reserved only for him and I knew where this headed.<em>

_Flattening myself against the wall, I strained to catch every word, feeling a bit nervous._

_"What is it, Selwyn?" he snapped with a severe tone that I'd only heard him use with Nott and Avery that one time._

_I heard her suck in a short breath as if to gasp and then say, "Please don't be angry with me, My Lord. You know I only speak the truth about what I think."_

_Silence reigned for a short moment while Tom probably considered her words or rolled his eyes, remembering her attitude about his changing plans for the Knights. "Is that all? If so, please forgive me, but I'm in a hurry. I have some work to do and –"_

_"It's that dirty Muggle lover again, isn't it?" She cut across him, her voice shooting through an octave._

_"How dare you –" he'd begun with a snarl._

_"_Tom!_ Open your eyes! She's just as bad as a Mudblood! She's not worthy of you –" The corridor, that had echoed her shouted chastises while she went on insulting me, suddenly filled with her agonized shrieks that disappeared as fast as they'd come. _

_I fought the urge to turn the corner and run to help her because I knew I didn't want to see what would appear there: Tom, standing above her prostrated form, with his wand held high and ready to use the Cruciatus again. I felt sickened with myself more so than I did with him. But I knew that it didn't matter: he'd attacked her to defend me and so I wouldn't ever say anything. What _could_ I say?_

_A singular tear dripped from my right eye down my cheek and with all the pain in my heart at the idea of it, I decided on doing what I knew needed to get done. I'd made no difference in him. He remained just as cruel and vicious as before. Yes, his reasons and motives had changed – I now stood as the 'why' in his plans. But this had now turned unforgiveable. Image and power meant too much to him and that, I knew now, would never change._

_I gave up. I couldn't change his mind and I gave up trying to._

_Pushing myself off of the wall and slipping stealthily away from the scene, Tom's next words distorted oddly and everything got blanketed with a thick black denseness. My sadness evaporated as did my doubts and suddenly I felt quite sure that I could make Tom change his mind. _

_The blanket lifted and I stood with him atop what looked like the Astronomy Tower. The cool night air caressed the exposed skin of my face and neck. His arms wrapped around me, the cloak he wore falling over his shoulders and shielding me as well. The warmth of his breath caressed the right side of my neck and his cheek felt soft and warm against mine. Standing here this way with him felt as intoxicating as it did magical._

_"Are you happy?" he asked softly in my ear before kissing a light trail from my earlobe to my jaw. _

_Breathing a soft sigh, I turned to face him, careful not to break the contact between us even for a second, and buried myself as much as possible in his embrace. I nuzzled the smoothness of his neck, inhaling his cool and fresh yet warm familiar scent, and answered. "More than you can possibly know." _

_He breathed a soft, relieved laugh and tightened the grip his left arm held around my waist. Bringing his right hand up to my hair and brushing his fingers through lightly starting from my right temple to the tips, he merely looked out at the full moon, thoughtful. He seemed so at peace even then when I felt sure that he thought of what he'd given up at my side: the anger, the prejudice, the hate, the image…none of it would fit between us. It had taken so much out of him when he realized what had happened to him and what I am – had taken things onto a turn for the worse, I thought. But just look at us: sneaking out at night in nothing but night things and a cloak, atop the Astronomy Tower, holding each other and happy. _

_But the occasional doubt did rear its ugly head. This I won't deny. "Are you?" I asked him and tried to hide my face in his chest. He hated my doubts as much as I hated his twisted views._

_He caught the worry in my voice and stopped the stroking of my hair to switch off his left arm for the right and to lift my face toward his. He didn't answer me, just stared into my eyes – black into green – for a few moments and when I felt stupid enough to apologize and tell him to forget the question, something strange happened. It felt like something pushed on my brain – penetrating my mind. _

_I sucked in a sharp breath and tried to break the unpleasant feeling by emptying my mind like he'd taught me but he wouldn't allow it. The unpleasantness of having my thoughts penetrated and sifted through lessened with a swiftness that I didn't expect. He'd done this to me before just to show me how ugly things can get, but never had he made it a pleasant experience like he did now: Kissing him in the Great Hall on Christmas Eve, the candles guttering out around us and leaving us in a soft and warm glow that went so well with the fluttering of my heart; then, we sat in the library, him holding my hand in his left as his right skated quickly across the parchment in front of him – an essay for Potions – trying to rush to finish so as to have more down time with me; next in the DADA classroom on the day we practiced nonverbal spells on each other and he struggled to keep his strength at bay, unwilling to hurt me; and then, my best memory, I lay in the Hospital Wing on New Year's Eve, having just awoken to Tom by my side, his hand clutching mine, and thinking he looked angry._

_"I love you," both he and the memory of him said. "I will _not_ lose you."_

_He stopped here and before I could miss the next part too much, he completed it, bringing his mouth down the rest of the way to mine. His lips fluttered like feathers on mine at first, amazing me still how gentle he could feel, but then as I leaned in to deepen the kiss – needing it to get deeper and less gentle – he complied. His hands had at some point found their way to my face, fingers combing into my hair and pulling my face more to his, crushing our mouths harder to one another's. _

_Whimpering with urgency, I mimicked him and molded myself to him, pressing my body to his, snaking my arms around his neck and tangling my hands in his locks, losing myself in his kisses, the caresses he placed on my face, my neck, and my arms. I knew exactly where this headed; it had felt so long leading up to this and I needed him to know what lay in my heart before this went further. I wanted him to know that he didn't stand alone in this level of commitment he'd shown already – that I would always stay with him no matter what. So, almost painfully, I pulled away and trapped his hands with mine at the hem of the pajama blouse I wore._

_"I'll never leave you alone," I breathed, ignoring the pang in my chest at the look of confusion on his face that had surfaced when I pulled away. But it gave way quickly to that smile of his, the one that made his eyes dance with the purest of happiness. I knew he didn't need to hear it because he already knew, but my next words came out on instinct more than anything else: "I love you…so much…." _

_His eyes continued to dance and I released his hands to snake my arms around his neck again. "Never," he echoed and closed the space between us once more, his hands resuming their intended path. _

* * *

><p>"What <em>happened<em> to her?" Eliot's voice came.

Little by little I opened my eyes and just listened as they adjusted to the light.

"I don't know. All I saw was Riddle running with her and then he, Dippet, and Dumbledore brought her here," said Mike a bit shakily.

"Goodness, I hope she's not hurt. I still can't believe Tom didn't call for help."

Eliot answered snidely. "No. _Tom_ couldn't _spare_ time to ask for help. Thalia looked like she was about to bleed out when I saw him rush by Honeydukes. As much as it surprises me to say, I'm sure he did his best."

"You boys don't…think that…?" Emily trailed off, sounding uncertain but very frightened.

The other two fell silent.

My eyes now adjusted, I realized I lay in the Hospital Wing and that the three of them must have sat near my bed, waiting for me to come to. I tried to speak but barely had enough strength to breathe let alone protest to what they had clearly begun to think. I couldn't say for _sure_ what had happened to me but I sure as hell knew that those three couldn't go around suspecting Riddle. That seemed wrong not to mention bad.

Inhaling deeply and summoning all the strength I could, I turned my head toward them. "No," I said as strongly as I could. It came out as a hoarse whisper, but it came out loud enough.

They all stood from the seats they'd sat in, their coats still on, and leaned in.

"Thalia!" Emily exclaimed in less than a whisper as if speaking to an almost dead person. "Are you alright? Does anything hurt? Madame Marche said that you would be alright, but –"

"No," I said, straining my vocal cords. I winced.

"Shhh, Thali." Mike took my hand in his and gingerly lifted it to make room for him to sit beside me. "Don't speak. Just rest." He allowed for Emily to fuss over me, tucking me in, and swatting down my attempts to struggle against it.

"Stop!" I tried to protest, but she only tucked me in tighter. "Please listen," I pleaded once she'd tucked me tightly into the bed, leaving me irritated and lightheaded.

"What is it, Thalia? You need to rest – you had quite an episode." Eliot pulled Emily back gently, keeping one arm around her waist.

"You guys were thinking Riddle did this to me. He didn't!"

Mike's worried expression turned to ice and he scoffed. "We'll see. He said you'd fainted. You can't be sure –"

"I _am_! He didn't hurt me. He kind of saved my life – even you said it, Eliot."

Eliot grimaced at Mike's sharp look but nodded. "He did. I dunno, mate. Riddle seemed really intent on getting her here safely. I doubt he would even have stayed here if he'd done this to her…." Mike glared at him but showed no sign of protest or interrupting, so he continued. "But _what_ happened to her, we still don't even know. Thalia?" He looked at me half expectantly and half sheepishly as if ashamed to pry.

I shook my head. Bad move. The room swayed before me but I shut my eyes and focused on my words. "I don't know. I…" I couldn't tell them the exact topic of conversation with Riddle but they needed to know that it had gone no further than that: conversation. Whatever had happened fell on _me_ – _I_ had bled all over the place and fainted. "I was just talking to him – saying hi and, you know, catching up and then I got dizzy and…fainted." Forcing myself to finish, I cringed inwardly at the looks on their faces that clearly showed they didn't believe a word I'd said. People – especially Gryffindors– didn't just 'say hi' and 'catch up' with Tom Riddle, obviously.

But, hey, I'd transferred in, right? I had to have some quirks and oddities. I just hoped it stuck.

Mike let out a low whistle. "And here I thought you'd learned to hate those gits on principle after that mess with Selwyn and Greengrass," he said shaking his head dismally. "But no, she _socializes_ with them." With him smirking now, I knew the others would take his joking manner as his acceptance of this bit of weirdness and they'd all move on so I released the breath I'd held all this time and laughed – well, hacked and coughed to the rhythm of their laughter.

"Dippet said we could wait until Dumbledore got here before we have to leave. Okay with you?" he asked, an eyebrow rising in question.

"'Course. I'm glad you guys are here."

They all smiled and left it at that. They all cared and that meant more than enough for me.

"So has my story spread? Are they already taking bets as to when I'll be laid up in here again?" Trying for a bit of humor now that my lightheadedness had begun to dissipate, my own weak laughter faltered at the sudden looks of pity and uncertainty they gave.

"Umm…about that. It looks like one of us going to have to shave Greengrass, Selwyn _and_ Hornby…jealous bi –"

"Michael!" Emily interjected, horrified.

I burst out laughing and kept laughing despite the dull ache in my chest and head. "Aww, Mike, you're awesome. Don't do it, though." I tried my wickedest smile and felt pleased to see his and Eliot's answering smirks. Even Emily gave a nervous titter. "I've got plans for them…. But for, uh, curiosity's sake, what's the word now?"

All three of them rolled their eyes and scoffed. Emily answered in a would-be nonchalant tone that I hoped Eliot remained too incensed about the topic to hear. "They said that you fainted when Tom rejected your invitation on a date." She scoffed again for good measure.

Ignoring the block of ice that slid into my stomach at her words, I scoffed and laughed before Madame Marche saved me from saying more on the subject.

She bustled out of her office and over to us, looking cross and when she reached us, said, "_Told_ you three to call me when she woke and here you all are having yourselves a giggle party." She prodded Mike with her finger. "Out of the way, Mr. Parkinson."

While she looked me over, I wondered about what she'd just called Mike. _They do have the same eyes – possibly even the same wicked sense of humor…but totally different perspectives…totally,_ I mused, opening my mouth so she could check my throat. Things would change so drastically and yet so many would not – if left alone. I wondered if it would end up as Mike's choice to marry into Slytherin, but somehow I couldn't picture it. _Yeah, you could, liar. Don't you remember just now promising to the most evil of Slytherins that you'd never leave him? And what about just now coming to his defense?_ I bit my lip and tried to counter myself. _It was just a memory…._

It didn't work. Even if what I said before about the blame falling to me for what happened and not to him hadn't boded truth, I knew that somewhere I just feared that I'd regret it for some not so obvious reason later on letting him take the blame when I didn't feel so sure anymore about what I felt. No, I didn't _love_ him already just like that over a stupid memory, but it did get me thinking…. _It was just part of the plan I'd come up with back then – a farce that he fell for – I _had_ to pretend to love him, sleep with him even to get him to stop this shit…. Come on, not even you believe that. First of all, can you picture yourself doing anything like that? And if it were even the case, you would have been in that mind set and not dreading having not been able to change who he was and so ecstatic about being _his_…. Shut up…._ I breathed a heavy sigh and fell back onto my pillows as she finished up on me.

"Rest," she commanded in a stern voice, but patted my head softly, and walked away.

The Wing door opened then and in rushed Riddle followed by Dumbledore. My gulp didn't come off as imperceptible as I'd wished but it seemed only I heard it.

"I guess it's time for us to go," Eliot said, glancing over his shoulder and straightening up to his full height. "Rest, Thalia, okay?" he too commanded with a warm smile.

I nodded and let myself get hugged gingerly by all of them before they turned away toward the door as Riddle and Dumbledore got to my bed. "Hi, Professor, Tom," I mumbled.

Riddle spoke first, rather unexpectedly cutting most rudely across Dumbledore, and didn't even bother with a greeting: "Are you alright? I couldn't stay to see that you were taken care of for obvious reasons –" He shot Dumbledore a sideways glare "– but I insisted on coming back to make sure…" He trailed off, most eerily uncharacteristically of him (as if the glare weren't enough), and just waited for an answer, looking as scared as he did worried.

Now I knew what it felt like to get struck by lightning. Yeah, I felt more than confused by his concern but I figured that that only happened to me because I kept thinking of him as Voldemort and kept forgetting that he couldn't act cold as I'd seen here – he _had_ to show concern for a girl he saved from…whatever – to keep up the perfection charade. But this now came off as overacting, no? Anyway, that didn't have me so dumbstruck. No, this jolt came to me from the leaking feeling of _tenderness_ at the look in his black eyes and the unmistakable tinge of worry – panic even, if I listened hard enough – in his voice. A double whammy: his concern and my _appreciation_ for it. It scared me shitless.

I nodded mutely for a second before remembering my voice. "Y-yes. I'm feeling better. I just need to rest."

His mouth formed a tight line, his jaw set and he nodded stiffly, but the glint in his eyes presented the biggest yet most imperceptible give away that he held something back. "Then I shall leave you to do so." He turned to Dumbledore, all politeness once more, and asked, "Would it be alright if I looked in tomorrow before classes?"

Had I stood for him I'd have gotten floored and hard. But Dumbledore didn't show even the slightest sign of surprise.

"I see no problem with that, but we must consider Miss Espinoza's preferences," he said, gesturing to me with a small smile.

"Of course," Riddle said, turning back to me, an eyebrow up in question.

About twenty seconds passed before I realized I had to speak and even then it came out a jumble of words. "Huh?-Yeah-of-course-that'd-be-great-awesome." I flashed a smile to make it clear that I'd conceded, just in case.

With a small smile and courteous bow of his head, he turned and left. I watched him go, stunned. The smile he'd given had hardly shone any different from the others he'd given in the past – no bigger, no flashier, and no closer to touching his eyes. But it stood as the sincerest I'd witnessed. Unsure if I owed it to the tenderness forming a puddle in my chest that had something splashing happily in it or just to true sincerity from him, but this ended up as my perception of it. Fuck. My. Life. _Oh, irony… how I _truly_ loathe thee._

As soon as the door swung shut behind Riddle, Dumbledore shifted to face me and lowered himself into one of the seats. "You do look a bit peaked. Would you prefer to rest and speak at a later time?"

I shook my head – not as bad of a move as before bur pretty bad still. I pushed on. He needed to know. "Professor, I did give up. I couldn't change him so I gave up…he'd broken my heart…." My voice failed me here, cracking on 'heart' and I had to swallow the lump that threatened to get bigger in my throat at the memory of the sadness. This had gone way past ridiculous.

He stared at me, not saying a word, for a few seconds before nodding and asking, "You're sure this was from the last circuit?"

I nodded, pushing on again. "It has to be. I mean, you've told me I've always been dedicated to this in the past circuits and I guess that means I've never – not even once – deviated from that mindset?"

He nodded. "Yes. So, you figure that remembering the moment you give up can only mark the last circuit."

"Yeah," I said, nodding fervently. "It kind of makes sense, I think. Right?"

"Actually, I'd like to hear your theory. You're right, it does, but why do you think so?"

Testing my strength and knowledge. So Dumbledore-ish of him. "Well, okay, so I've learned from random pieces on the subject that I've been forced to read through that Time is linear, right?" He nodded. "So we, humans I mean, tend to try to follow that as best as we can in every aspect of our lives: we do things routinely at certain hours all our lives according to how we accustom ourselves. This goes for physiological aspects – sleeping, eating, waking, etcetera – as well as some mental aspects, don't you think?" He didn't answer, merely smiled. I smiled, happy that I finally started to get something on my own. "Right, so the main mental aspect that I think would be _ruled_ by Time would be our memories. We all remember things – things from when we were younger, things from yesterday, things _at random_. But they never _stay_ random, do they? Our mind always either follows up on the memory with what came after or places the memory among others so as to make it linear. It is instinct – like homeostasis – to live by the linear path that Time follows…." He remained quiet but smiling. "I think so anyway."

"Fantastic. You are grasping the theories wonderfully and learning where to apply them."

"It took me a month and a spaz attack to hit this but at least I got it."

He smiled again and said, "So, you believe that your memories are following a linear form? Latest to earliest?"

I nodded. "Yup…." I sighed, remembering what we'd started off talking about.

He gave me a saddened smile but encouraged me to go on.

"I don't get it. What I remembered after giving up, which technically came before me giving up, was…well…" I felt the heat rising in my face and couldn't finish. I wanted to hide under the covers and just forget what I'd felt then in that memory. It felt so fucking strong…but so damned wrong….

"I see," he said, lapsing into a thoughtful silence. As embarrassing as it presented for me, I felt glad that he'd gotten it without me having to say anything. The thought of telling Dumbledore that Riddle and I got to home base on the Astronomy Tower paralyzed me it mortified me so bad. "That makes more sense of things actually."

That pulled me from my paralyzed state. "What? How?"

He shook his head, smiling. "I could tell you, but something tells me you wouldn't believe me. I think it best you remember for yourself."

I grimaced. "For real? Ugh," I moaned, slumping even further into my pillows. "Professor…I…" I trailed off, feeling the weight of everything upon me: the wear and tear on my body over these memories having finally come back to me, knowing more would come, the memories themselves, Riddle _caring_, my own warranted yet unwanted confusion. It all fell on me at once.

He nodded solemnly. "I know and I understand. But you cannot let this get to you so much, Thalia. It will get more difficult."

I didn't answer, just stared at the ceiling above me. _You already said you would do this. So, suck it up and do it…. But, he broke my heart – how the _hell_ did he do that? …Ugh, you fell in love with him. You gave him that power. Just don't do it again and you should be good…. Like magic, right? As if I knew what made me fall for him.… What's worse: a broken heart or watching your father die when you go back? _I sighed and nodded. "I know. I'm okay. I just need to…deal."

"Deal away." He smiled and said, "At least our theory was correct. The process of remembering sent your body into overdrive, which indicates the weight they carry."

I sat up, nodding. "Yeah, I kind of felt like I was gonna explode."

"I would imagine so. Do you think this was triggered by something?"

I hesitated, but covered it up with a shrug. Of course I had a theory on this too, who wouldn't? I'd talked with Riddle, embarrassing the life out of myself by asking him out when I remembered loving him, him breaking my heart and giving up on him. Talk about linearity. "Well, it might just be a coincidence…but, I _was_ with Riddle…I assume you know what happened."

He nodded. The question had meant to confirm his theory, then. He smiled and said, "Some good has come from this besides your remembering, at least."

I scoffed. "And that would be?"

"He wasn't putting on a show when he said that he'd insisted on coming back."

I half smiled, conceding. "I saw that enough in his eyes…. Do you think I scared him?"

His face seemed impassive. "No, not in the way you seem to think at least. But of him being worried about you and desperate to get back to you, he was. I almost regret interrogating him for as long as I did but I had to make sure he hadn't done this to you."

I nodded. "I get that. That seems to be a common idea around everyone I know." I scoffed. I had to admit that, had someone else lain where I lay now, I probably would have accused Riddle relentlessly too.

"But he didn't. At least some things are changing from what was supposed to be," he said, standing. "Rest, Thalia. The changes are more and many to come." He turned and swept away toward the end of the room and left, leaving me with a thought – a question really – that I'd thought too rude to ask….

The next morning, waking up…yeah, a bit of bitch. I didn't feel as achy as yesterday but now, from lying in bed for so long, I felt stiff and a little unstable on my feet. Madame Marche watched me stumble around like I'd drunk just a glass too much of Meade and encouraged me to keep going and adjust when the door creaked open. Riddle came in, a stack of toast on a napkin in hand.

"Hmmm, Mr. Riddle seems to have come to make sure you are well nourished," she commented as he walked to us. "Doubting my ministrations, Tom?" she asked jokingly and helped me move a chair to sit in.

His answering chuckle came out surprisingly soft and actually reached his eyes, which danced with the tamed humor. "Of course not, Madame Marche. It's simply a matter of my being taught that it is always best to take a lady into account whenever necessary – food, drink, shelter and such."

She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. "Always the perfect gentleman," she said bustling off, still smiling.

He drew up a chair and sat, setting the toast aside on the bed. "Have you eaten? Help yourself."

I didn't need telling twice. "Thanks," I mumbled, grabbing a piece and avoiding his gaze. I ate in silence until it occurred to me that he'd probably sat here, missing breakfast, just to watch me eat. "Umm, did you eat yet? You don't have to just sit there." I told him hesitantly, wanting him to at least start talking or eating or something so I wouldn't feel all weird and whatnot.

"I'm fine, really. I just came to make sure you're alright. If you'd like me to leave," he said, his eyes widening slightly in a truly innocent sense of realization. "Just say so."

I rolled my eyes, growling, and then sighed, exasperated and downright _tired_ of this chivalry crap. _No one_ should get _everything_ they want not even if etiquette dictated it. "Oh _shut up_, Tom! And wipe that look off of your face. Do you _honestly_ think I'm going to _make_ you leave? You saved my life, you're feeding me and you came just to check up on me! You're not an idiot, Tom, I _know_. Even _you_ can't justify me being an ungrateful brat no matter how much of a gentleman you are and that I owe you _at least_ an hour of my time. Just cash in, will you? You don't always have to be so polite," I accused, pointing a piece of toast at him sternly.

Well he didn't look as shocked as he did when I told him to shut up, but he did have an odd look on his face. It didn't seem angry or even displeased. It seemed more like amusement. He laughed. It started off as a soft, composed chuckle and grew from his lungs into a real and uninhibited laugh of true entertainment.

Part of me wanted to feel offended – I meant what I'd said, he didn't need to act so polite and worried about me and I didn't know _why_ he did – but a bigger part of me understood why he laughed and couldn't help joining in. Pretty soon I sounded as breathless with the laughter as he did. "I'm sorry. That was rude," I gasped.

He shook his head, calming down. "No, it was honest. I really appreciate that. Of course, naturally everything you just said goes against my upbringing but then again not much of you goes with it," he said straightening up and grabbing a piece of toast.

Adjusting myself in my seat, I jerked my head in his direction, signaling for him to continue. "What do you mean?" I asked through a mouthful of toast.

He scoffed still more amusedly. "_That_," he explained, gesturing to me with his toast.

I smiled at the gesture and nodded in agreement. "I know. I'm a slob –"

"No!" He looked almost offended. "No, nothing to do with a slob. You're just different." He chewed for a moment before continuing when I didn't answer that, kind of struck by it. "Thalia, you're no idiot either. You see what surrounds me." He cocked an eyebrow in a matter-of-fact way. "You know how you're different from them…. I don't know." He shrugged. "It's a rather refreshing thing that you bring to one's life."

I shook my head, smirking. "Refreshing? _God_."

"What?" he asked, laughing a little.

"I'm not sure, actually," I told him, shifting in my seat so that I sat with on knee brought up to my chest and the other leg dangled. "I don't get this," I gestured to us, "I mean you remember how badly I freaked out when I got here," He rolled his eyes, "Yeah. From _that_ to being _flattered_…? I should have asked you out, fainted, scared the crap out of you by almost dying in your arms and told you to shut up a long time ago."

"I suppose you should have," he laughed. "May I ask you a question?"

"What did I just say?"

He smirked, breathing a soft laugh. "Right. Where you're from, Spain, are all of the women like you or are you just as odd there as you are here?"

I chuckled. "Put it this way: _nowhere _is it acceptable for a lesser to tell a superior his or her truths…not even in Spain."

He nodded, thoughtful. "I suppose. But you were the exception there too, of course"

I shrugged. Bullshit backstory time. "Culebreos was, um, a very distinguished school – I guess you've heard?" He nodded, face impassive. I continued. "Yeah, so I only went for a year as a favor to my parents because I was just fine being home schooled, but they wanted to make their point to society. But in that year…" I trailed off for a minute, not really sure which lie to tell, but I chose one that seemed fitting. "…I had to learn a lot. Not magic per se – lessons in how to be free, how to stake my claim on my own being and when my parents died, I was foolish enough to think that I would be…."

His eyebrows pulled slightly together. "What do you mean?"

I swallowed my bite of food, praying just a tiny bit of moisture – enough to make this lie look real but not enough to make it too much – shone in my eyes. "I'd been home schooled all my life. I never had a choice in what to learn – it was always just what my parents wanted to teach me. Yeah, they taught me the basics – levitation, flying, summoning – but they made a vicious sport of forcing me to learn curses and attacks, but I was never really any good at those. So, when I got to Culebreos, even though it was mainly for Dark magic by then, I elected to learn the Lighter side. To be honest, I never even properly knew how to stun someone until I got here," I finished, shakily and laughing a bit.

He half-scoffed half-laughed, but did not say anything so I went on.

"When my parents died, I thought I could just continue on my own and become qualified at another school or with another family member," I explained, meeting his gaze for authenticity. "But my last name screwed me over."

"They were wanted," he murmured, nodding with understanding. "Your parents' deaths freed you. Then you didn't want the life they'd lived." He hadn't posed it as a question and that made it easier for me to nod – made me glad that he didn't pity me or give me that 'aww, poor baby' look.

"Not in the least. I spent fifteen years watching them kill and hurt and destroy for some cracked idea of superiority. I was sad to see them go – they were my parents! Of course I loved them. But I was free, like I am here." The atmosphere had gotten very heavy (he was staring into my eyes with an intensity to match the heat of the sun at the equator on a cloudless day) and it didn't feel right so I stopped the lying and tried for a lighter topic. "Yeah, you've got your nut jobs like your fan girls around – " He finally broke eye contact and shook with laughter "– but I prefer them over death and destruction again and again."

"Fan girls," he scoffed, pushing the last piece of toast to me, which I took, tore in two and tossed him half.

"Fan girls," I agreed, nibbling. "_Protective_ fan girls," I revised.

He smirked. "I'll tell them to stop. There's no need –"

"You're right. There's no need for you to fight my battles, Riddle," I said, glaring daggers at him. "You'll take all the fun out of it," I complained.

He shook his head, making a face of mock skepticism. "What are you planning to do to them? I hope it's not too big of a mess to clean up."

I cocked an eyebrow. "_You_? Clean up _my_ mess?"

He flashed that small smile from yesterday and nodded. "You broke tradition first, Espinoza, by asking me out," he accused, leaning in. His voice got a bit lower, but remained very even and nonchalant as he said, "Why don't we just call a temporary truce between just us – break tradition a little more?"

I thought my heart skipped a beat, but I chuckled and went on. "Seriously?"

"You owe me." He sat back up, smirking.

I smiled. "About that – I'm not backing out. I still do definitely owe you. But can I ask you something?"

"What's with the formality?"

"Okay," I laughed, nodding. "Why did you get scared? Or was it just an act? Be honest, you won't hurt my feelings and you shouldn't care anyway."

His smile faltered and turned somewhat sad. "As much as I really sort of hate to admit it, I truly did worry about you." His looked very thoughtful when his eyes met mine as if attempting to make me understand him better. "I am a Prefect. It's my duty to do what I can for _any_ student and that's always been what I do, even before I got the badge. But now…it seems I've gone beyond my own measures." I nodded, seeing the glint in his eyes that might have reflected confusion or panic. I couldn't tell because I only focused on the black orbs, not his face. "It's as odd for me as it is for everyone else," he continued softly. "Like you said: from scaring you to death and thinking it was funny to genuinely worrying that you wouldn't wake up…." He trailed off into another of those uncharacteristic moments and stared at me, seeing past me probably into yesterday like I did – reliving the experience of fearing for my limp form right after I'd fainted. The change he went through then must have felt as horrifying as the feeling of my systems going into overdrive – just as powerful for him.

I actually _empathized_ with Riddle.

The bell rang and I jumped so bad that I slipped and almost slid of my seat. He didn't even flinch. Exhaling what sounded like a sigh, he stood and held out his hand for me to take.

I did and he pulled me up, probably a little less gently than customary but I smiled anyway, kind of proud of him.

"You owe me _at least_ another half hour," he said, narrowing his eyes _playfully_.

_God, I'm going to pass out again if he keeps this up_, I thought, smirking. "For you, another _hour_…at least," I added, not quite sure where inside the muddled and confused recesses of my mind that had come from.

"Very well, then," he said, making a performance of straightening up and recomposing himself. "I'll see you at lunch to settle the terms of our truce."

I laughed and nodded. "Very well and bring me some chocolate please and gracias."

With a final smirk, he let go of my hand and walked away….

When the door shut behind him, the past half hour caught up with me. A huge part of me wanted to run and hide until this circuit ran itself out so I could go home and hate Voldemort properly without my not-so-shoddy shoddy memories of him and no instances of him _caring_ for anyone least of all me. I wanted to bang my head against a brick wall until all the mental pictures I'd taken of him – smiling and not – all fell out…until the singed memory of his urgent kisses, his warm hands caressing me and his loving demeanor all vanished into nothingness. No, I do not love Riddle. Of this I am sure. It has not yet progressed so far and I would not let it. But I had already begun to understand the slew of girls here fighting over him, though I knew I had a different reason to…want his notice.

The other, smaller, quieter and more decided part of me that couldn't wait for lunch – the part that had sent me into overdrive yesterday – knew that I'd started to grow…somewhat fond…accepting, perhaps of Riddle. I sighed. "If only I didn't already know you could never change," I mumbled to myself, remembering my other memory. Nodding to myself I started pacing very slowly again, thinking. _You got him to relax a bit. That's good. He's getting used to you and seems to tolerate you too – even Dumbledore said so. He worried about you…. I can't like him…. Then don't…just keep up the connection you fucking almost _died_ to make. Use it._

With another sigh, I made my way over to Madame Marche's office to inform her of my lunch-date-kind-of-sort-of-not-really-thing with Riddle.


	7. The Truce

**A/N:** Woohoo! Favs and alerts and even a review. Awesomeness, guys, that's all I have to say. You're awesome. Thanks to all of you (soup4mepapi, I'm so glad Thalia has made such an impact on you really - I hope she continues to grow on you.) and sorry it took me a bit to update this. It will probably take about the same amount of time to update the next chapters as well, because school's started and the first few chapters were written before that so, updating - a bit harder now. But, not to worry. If you keep reading, I shall keep the story going. This chapter's a bit ...hm... well, you'll see =) Finally a little fluffiness but not too much hopefully and we'll see what comes of it. ENJOY! Oh and, ya know what to do ;)

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Six: _The Truce_**

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><p><em>"Change in all things is sweet." – Aristotle<em>

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><p>By the time the bell rang for lunch, Madame Marche already had two places set on the bed and had asked the house elves to bring up two bowls of soup along with two plates of fried chicken and mash as per my request. Well, only after she had her fifteen minutes of swooning and Tom-worshipping ("Oh, he is <em>such<em> a darling young man! He is quite a fetch, if I may say so myself."), of course. When Riddle came in, a gold bar in his hand, I had already gotten halfway through with my soup and inwardly cringed at the experience of Madame Marche trying to 'freshen me up' for him.

"Hungry?" he asked in a good-naturedly sarcastic tone with an eyebrow raised as he sat down across from me.

Swallowing a mouthful of soup, I answered, "As a hippo."

He looked peculiarly nonplussed but smiled. I felt myself growing accustomed to that as unfortunate as that seemed.

"Just eat and give me my gold," I told him, smiling too, a little less unwilling to do so than I would have thought, but that nulled right now as he smirked back and countered:

"I think _you_ would prefer this to gold." He placed the bar on my right side and went through all the dictated etiquette of preparing to eat: napkin on the lap albeit a little messily, no elbows on the table-bed thing and cutlery evenly spaced in front of him. A mighty change from what I'd seen in my time and, even now, after a month of seeing this, I still could not get used to it.

The soft nutty scent of hazelnut and chocolate reached my nose and I knew what he meant. "I sure would." Lifting the gold wrapped bar of Honeydukes chocolate and promptly after inhaling the smooth scent of the deliciousness inside I could have classified as slightly inebriated. "Uff, gracias. You're the best." Okay, so I used 'slightly' very liberally here.

He scoffed not humorlessly and said, "You're most welcome," swallowing a spoonful of soup.

We talked and ate. "So, what am I missing in class?" Now finished with the soup, I set the bowl aside to move onto my entrée.

He looked thoughtful for a moment over his own plate and then said, "Not much more than on Friday. A lot of people don't quite understand the brewing method of the Draught of Living Death yet."

I nodded. "I can see why: it's really hard."

"You had no trouble with it and that one's supposed to be advanced N.E.W.T. level."

_Neither did you._ I shrugged. "Living Death…meh."

He nodded, conceding. "Quite."

"Is that all?" I pried a bit more, wanting to get to the meat of the answer. I knew it had to come.

He met my gaze and it felt like when two powerfully charged magnets zoom across the table to each other and that tiny _click_ resounds so loudly in an empty room the understanding between us seemed so clear. He'd gotten what I'd meant, but had tried to spare my feelings, knowing I didn't need the gesture. "People asking one another if they heard the conversation between us yesterday."

Ignoring the slight catching of my breath in my chest and the grimace pulling at my left cheek, I nodded in acceptance of this bit of news. "I guess I couldn't expect that to disappear overnight." A shrug rocked me slightly before I asked, "Well?"

"Mostly speculation from all the Houses. But I do know that some of my House have speculated correctly."

I felt my eyes widen and the heat burst from my neck and creep up to my cheeks. Trying to keep from letting out a low whimper, I shoveled food into my mouth to cover up my oncoming panic. _Holy fuck! No, please don't let this get out so quick, please. _

He smirked. "You're scared." Not a question.

I tried hard not to stumble on my next words after I swallowed the mouthful of chicken and mash I'd shoved in there. "N-no, of course not! I-it's just – how did they –"

He snickered, and waved his fork airily as if explaining something very by the by to a toddler. "Speculation always has some truth about it and, of course, those who speculated correctly know enough about me and about the female population here at Hogwarts to speculate _very_ accurately."

Well, that changed things a lot. My eyes narrowed at him of their own accord and my next words had rushed out of my mouth before I could even think to process them properly. "Oh, well, _excuse_ me! I didn't know that I'd dared to _look_ at Casanova." Huffing and scoffing all at once (it sounded like I was ready to choke on something, which wasn't very far off, I guess), I returned to my chicken leg, tearing a piece off and chewing with unnecessary anger while he laughed.

When he'd stopped laughing enough to speak, he wore a look of incredulity and pushed out in between snickers, "Casanova? Hardly. He was shameless."

I snorted, swallowing the chicken. "So, what, you're ashamed of your pursuits?"

"Pursuits?" he asked, not even slightly vexed or even confused looking. "There are none," he finished, shaking his head and taking a bite of mash.

Again, my eyes narrowed but this time skeptically and I pulled a face to match. "Uh-huh, sure."

He raised an eyebrow a bit smugly but mostly politely discrete.

I rolled my eyes. The indignant fire that had lit in me at his words about speculation had begun to die down but the embers remained, ready to catch again at any moment. "It's a pattern for you, then? Girls chasing you, I mean." Releasing a disgusted sound, I returned to my plate, pushing my mash around with the fork, not quite hungry anymore.

He scoffed quite in the same manner, but only gave a stiff, "Yes" as a response.

I heard nothing more in his tone than arrogance and so I said with a sarcastic air, "You're so modest, Tom."

"Why should I lie to you?" A slight crease formed in his marble-like forehead that pulled his eyebrows together into a curiously tense set above his eyes that had inherited a sort of darkened glimmer. "You've already seen it and have even taken a part in it." Finally, feeling the weight of all this on me, I let my head hang in shame, grinding my teeth, and just listened to him as he didn't even show a sign of letting up. "Of course, the other girls usually _wait _until I've rejected them to faint."

I tried to slow my breathing so as to not let it show that I felt embarrassed and angry but I knew my face probably looked like a tomato by now. So I just took another bite of food, not daring to look up until his next words came out.

"But we've already established that you aren't like many other people let alone the girls here," he said softly and it sounded a bit like a question to himself rather than a statement to me. He went on surveying me with his head tilted to one side and looked a bit like a small child that has just seen something mildly interesting. Minutes he stayed that way, his eyes scanning my face over and over as if to memorize it, or at least that seemed the only reason I could think of for him to keep scanning my face then. I still probably looked red and embarrassed – angry, but it's not like I expressed much there. His black orbs flitted across the outline of my face once more before he spoke in a whisper so soft I could barely hear it over the rush of my own blood in my ears. "To answer your question or rather your misinterpretation of my words, I am neither ashamed nor regretful of my choices. It's simply preferable that you know that I am no womanizer." He smiled faintly, adopting and modifying my little half smile to his own statuesque features. "It's a requirement for our truce."

I breathed a laugh a bit higher than I'd meant to out of pure nerves and a bit of surprise (I figured he didn't want his reputation tarnished with the playboy image I'd just attached to him and so he just made it sound nicer.), but I continued with his flow as naturally as I could. "Right, so what shall they be?"

He paused thoughtfully over his plate, chewing, it seemed, with deliberate leisureliness for a few moments while I watched him before he finally spoke. "Are you in agreement that our Housemates and much of the rest of the Hogwarts' population will be, to say the very least, surprised at our conviviality?"

Slowly, I nodded, thinking this obvious and very much the reason for the truce. Of course, that probably applied just to us (_Us...Christ…._). No one else in either of our Houses knew that we could actually get along like this and that brought up a question, but he'd already started talking again.

"Do you think that this fact should have any impact on what we decide?"

That seemed easy enough to interpret and a different witch – hell, I'll admit it passed through my mind – would have thought he'd tried to sugar coat me into remaining a dirty little secret. But to have the status of a dirty little secret there had to exist some kind of secret romance or sexual relationship…didn't there? To hell with that either way. "Not in the least," came my defiantly colored answer.

He didn't miss the new tine in my tone, but reacted differently than I thought he would. I thought he'd finally snap to his old self, stay true to the Riddle I'd known in the first month – or at least seen and say something to the effect of backing politely, politically out of this, whatever had happened. Instead, he unsmilingly said, "My sentiments exactly." He smirked in answer to the surprised quirk of my brow and twitch of my mouth as he continued, "I only asked for your benefit, Espinoza. I don't plan on hiding with whom I associate, especially not to make childish traditionalists feel better."

I scoffed a laugh. "So, no dirty little secrets?"

He smirked. "Even if it were that kind of thing, who'd want to keep it a secret?"

Rolling my eyes, I said with a falsely sweet tinge, "Gee, Riddle, you _sure_ do have a way of making a girl feel all warm and fuzzy inside _while_ puncturing her already fragile ego." The tone of my voice reminded me painfully of how Rose Selwyn had spoken to him in my memory and that in turn reminded me of what he would grow into, making me – for the first time since I discovered what I had to do here and while fully conscious – sad for this…the situation at hand. I'd already failed so many times at this…. How could I do it this time?

But the question got pushed out of my mind as he stood up because, clearly, this truce stood as my only chance of fulfilling my mission. I just had to run with it like I'd already decided. I eyed him as he walked around the bed to me while nervously pondering that smirking glint in his eyes that grew shinier and shinier. He looked simply radiant – yes, as painfully cheesy as that sounds, he fucking glowed – with that smile playing on his face when he held his hand out to me. I took it hesitantly.

And gently, even more so than on the first day we'd met and he'd carried me, he pulled me to my feet, tucking my hand in between both of his. They felt warm still, as I'd expected and maybe had even hoped, and warmed mine through. This didn't surprise me – I'd already known for a long time, and got a reminder this morning of how warm the porcelain looking skin really felt. How the smile on his face faltered for a fraction of a second did, however, as did that tamed-calamity flecked glint in his eyes. But it disappeared as soon as I'd seen it. Imagined, like many things today, it felt – seemed….

"Your ego is not fragile – you laugh too easily at yourself for that. It's not an extremely outstanding characteristic of yours, at least not as outstanding as the others, but not a bad one either. And, please, do not misinterpret me: it was not my intention to insult you. I simply didn't want you to think that I'd _assumed_ anything further than what we've suggested – after your incident."

I laughed a soft, breathy thing that barely qualified as a laugh and suppressed a cringe. _What the _hell_ is he _doing_ to me? Next, I'm gonna fucking _giggle_!_ "I was only joking. Of course, I know this isn't more than a truce."

His smile returned to its full intensity, that calamity flashing again before the smile overtook his eyes' shine. "Friends?" The question, from his mouth, sounded like…damn. I can't even properly explain. This had gone way past just _Voldemort_ saying this to me. No, that incredulity went out the window with all this 'worrying about me' shit – or at least it hung precariously from the ledge about to let go and fall away…. I'd watched this guy move around the castle and interact with people on a daily basis for a month. "Friends?" just didn't usually came out of his mouth even when he acted polite. It felt…odd, to say the very least. But, obviously, I'd started to not only embrace the odd, but to _enjoy_ it.

"Friends," I agreed, smiling and meeting his gaze. My question from a few moments ago came back to me then. "Um, what do people think you've been up to today?" I asked, screwing up my face in a mix between curiosity, skepticism and hesitancy.

Laughing, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Another day, Thalia. Not to be rude, but as close as you are to being out of here, I wouldn't want you to faint again, and get stuck here another night out of sheer shock and disgust."

I let my brow rise in incredulity and defiance before pushing. "Try me."

Again, he shook his head and reached for the chocolate, keeping my hand in his left. "Another time, I promise. Now, do you mind if we open this? I've never actually tasted the stuff."

I had already prepared to push on and on until he finally cracked and told me what the hell the gossiping little fucks around the school had said, but _that_ pushed all other thought out of my head. "_What?_ _You've never tasted chocolate?_ Swear it," I ordered, snatching up the hand that held the chocolate. I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head and laughed too when he did at my own hysteria albeit a little weakly. He'd never tasted chocolate! That warranted my hysteria.

"I swear I've never tasted it. I usually just give them as holiday gifts – it's easier than picking individual gifts," he explained.

But I'd only heard _"I swear, I've never tasted it,"_ and immediately snatched the bar from him, hurriedly unwrapping it. My hands shook. Fucking emergency, okay? Once the wrapper opened, I broke off a chunk of the hazelnut silk and ordered, "Open."

He looked at me like I'd grown an extra head or something. After a bit of internal struggle, it seemed, between amusement and annoyance at getting ordered around, he laughed. "I can feed my – ow – oh," he uttered when the chocolate I'd swiftly and expertly stuffed in his mouth touched his tongue. The signs of the sensation he definitely felt as he closed his mouth and savored the melting sweet easily looked familiar.

"Good, right?" I asked, feeling my smile grow wide.

He nodded, still savoring. After a minute or so, he spoke. "It's no wonder you get intoxicated off of just the smell."

Sniggering sheepishly, I handed him the rest of the bar. "You need this more than I do. I'm getting out of here tonight anyway."

He hesitated a bit before taking the chocolate and smiling, pocketing it. "Tonight?" he asked after a moment.

I nodded, enthused. Skipping class, yeah, totally awesome and whatnot. But now I needed to deal with some things. Selwyn, Greengrass and Hornby, just to name a few. "Yep, she said I'd have been done earlier had I not insisted on staying for lunch."

His brows pulled together. "You insisted on having lunch here?"

Not sure why I'd told him the truth and suddenly very aware of our still clasped hands, I nodded before answering, "I wanted our truce to be 'signed'." The air quotes I made around 'signed' gave me a reason to wriggle my hand free of his without too much conspicuousness or rudeness. Not that I didn't want to hurt his feelings – what feelings? _Really? You're still playing at that after finding out he worried about you? I mean, smart move and all, but you know part of you is right on that edge of believing that shit and _liking_ him…._I just didn't want to hear that inner monologue from the honest voice in me that knew this boded true. I fucking can't make this shit any clearer. I. Don't. Love. Riddle. I don't. But as sarcastic, overly-polite and rigid as he seemed, I've seen the side of him that can relax at least a bit. And like it or not, that sparked some mutation of hope in me. Hope for what exactly? Whether for stopping all the shit he would do – the conniving vileness that would form in him or whether to return to that night on the Astronomy Tower from my memory – the first taste of _true love_ I've ever felt in my fifteen years… did it matter? Hope, in this fucked-up-beyond-any-kind-of-belief-you-could-ever-have situation, remained hope. I could not distinguish between the two kinds. I had already, quite sadly, latched on to it. "I didn't want people to get the wrong idea," I explained, probably a bit coldly and more sarcastic than necessary. It might stnad true that I had latched on to the mutation of hope that had sprouted in my chest next to that happily splashing thing in the pool of unwanted tenderness. But hope did not make the difference between tolerance and love and I didn't to allow it to do so. I couldn't see Riddle as a man…ever. I couldn't let that shit happen.

He laughed softly, unfazed. "Right. Well, we're on the same page, then? All publicity is good publicity?"

I smirked, nodding. "Let them give themselves heart attacks. We'll just sit back and watch."

The bell rang and, again, I jumped at the sound.

"Perfect," he murmured, almost as if to himself, but reached for my hand then and brought it to his lips.

One, two, three beats the ridiculously weak muscle in my chest skipped before it thumped back to life with the introduction of the warmth that spread from where his lips touched to every corner of me. But, as hard as it turned out to deny my nerves and muscles a reaction, I didn't _dare_ allow myself the luxury – to show him how a simple polite gesture – quite common in his era – affected me. He'd already gotten closer than I would have allowed under different circumstances. But even this truth and my prohibition of my own bodily reflexes didn't hide where this headed and I hated myself for my weakness against the influence of a fucking episode of déjà vu. _Use it. You don't have to love him or even like him, but you do need to use this weirdness to your advantage. Strategically it's the best way. We've already covered this. It's worth the shot and you know it, otherwise you wouldn't have asked him out like a dumbass thinking that you could somehow make him get close – even fall for you and change him….It's just a tiny crush – it'll go away._

I breathed easier with that thought. It seemed true enough. All my crushes always went away. This didn't feel any different.

"I'll see you, then," I said, barely above a whisper, realizing too late how my voice had tinged with a transparent sadness. It only got worse with the coldness that enveloped my hand when he let it go, but I quickly brushed it off as the loss of the warmth of flesh. It didn't make too much of a difference, though.

"I'll see you," he said before turning and walking away.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! …Yeah, pretty much…._

But for the most part, I felt alright. I didn't have any more achiness, dizziness, or anything like that. I felt fairly calm as well, thanks to the honest voice in me that clarified the crush thing and set things straight. Just the tiny nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that kept asking me what the hell I planned to say to Emily, Mike and Eliot when I saw them again bothered me. They and the whole school would obviously know by now that Tom Riddle had come to visit me –_ twice_. But what exactly did they think had gone on? The Rumor Mill had surely already started up and ran, whirring half to death probably, its subjects Riddle and the new Dark transfer.

I groaned. "Thali, you got some 'splainin' to do," I mimicked, cursing Riddle for not telling me what to expect. _Asshole…. Yeah, pretty much…. You like that asshole…. Bitch…. Masochist._


	8. Timeless Traditions Part One

**A/N:** OMG, I fell off the fucking map, didn't I? Damn you, Midterms! Damn you to hell! ... Ahem... Well, now that's over, I can get to the thank you's. THANK YOU! That was for soup4mepapi for reviewing (I'm glad you love this as much as I love writing it) and my adders! Keep it up, guys. You give me inspiration. Now, here's chapter siete and I have to say that the reason it took me longer than usual to post this beside the blaspheming midterms is because I was writing more to this chapter and then I realized it was wayyyy too effin long - even I lost my attention span reading it. So, I chopped it in half. =) Now, in this chapter... hmmm... Riddle gets a little comfy... That's it! No more shall pass these fingertips! You must read to find out more! Enjoy and you know all the other shit too. ;)

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Seven: _Timeless Traditions – Part One_**

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><p><em>"Men talk of killing Time while Time quietly kills them." – Dion Broucicault<em>

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><p>"Thalia!" Emily exclaimed excitedly and very loudly over the chatter and clatter of dinnertime in the Great Hall. Glee painted over her oval shaped face, she nudged Eliot in the side to make him look up from his plate. A smile broke the stubbornly pissed off set of his usually serene face and he waved me over too. Mike sat there with them but busy talking to someone to the left so he didn't notice when I sat down to his right.<p>

"Hey," I greeted them smilingly albeit a bit breathlessly. I'd run straight here from the Hospital Wing when Madame Marche had let me out just in time for dinner.

"You look loads better," he commented over his steak and kidney pie.

"Loads," she agreed, nodding. I hadn't noticed it as I entered the Hall, but now that I sat this close to her, I noticed the glassiness of her eyes and the pink around the edges as if she'd just yawned or felt sleepy. It struck me as odd – the girl stood notorious for annoying the crap out of me by nine-ish to go to sleep already – but her own bubbly excitement and Eliot's friendly aura held more power over me than that particular detail just then. Part of me seemed a bit cheeky about the fact that I'd spent all of, what, twenty-four hours without them and not exactly _lonely_ per se, but I'd missed them all like crazy. The other more mature side of me took note of that and wondered why any part of me would feel shocked by that.

"I _feel_ loads better. Listen, guys, I have to tell you – it's so weird but kind of cool." I jumped straight into babble mode about breakfast and lunch, recounting to them about everything save for the memories or how they applied to my so-called plan. That remained off limits even to parts of my own mind for my own mental safety.

"Yeah, we thought something like that might happen," Eliot said when I'd finished, nodding and scoffing as he glared over his shoulder to most likely the Slytherin table. He turned his bitterly sneering eyes back to meet my gaze and continued: "We thought he was just being polite coming back yesterday because of the way you came here – you know, him helping you then as well – but we didn't expect another visit let alone two more." He obviously felt more than just a bit annoyed and his face slowly returned to its previous stubbornly pissed of set.

Emily just glared at the empty plate in front of me and it occurred to me then that I'd already sat there for at least ten or fifteen minutes and Mike had yet to even notice me. I mean, okay, he still seemed busy talking, but the guy could give a quick "hey" and go back to his conversation, right? I'd missed him too. But that didn't bother me as much as trying to figure out what had happened with Eliot and Emily.

"Are you guys alright?" I asked, glancing at the three of them in turn. Mike still had his back to me, Eliot had his fist balled up on the table and it twitched ever so slightly, and Emily's eyes grew shinier and more red-rimmed. She looked about ready to cry – had _already_ cried, it clicked. "What's wrong?" I demanded of them, very worried now. Had they fought with Mike? Did that stand as his reason for not talking to any of us?

Eliot's eyes flicked to Mike's back and then a point past me to stare determinedly there. "Nothing, it's stupid."

I sucked my teeth and smacked the table, frustrated. "_That's_ stupid. What. Is. It?" I asked, ignoring the glare he gave me when Emily flinched a bit at the noise I'd made. I felt beyond irritated then and no, not because I turned _metiche*_ or nosy, as they say. I genuinely worried. "What the hell?" I demanded once more and banged again, feeling quite like a child…or perhaps a frustrated mother? I didn't have too much time to process that before Mike turned finally and spoke.

"They've been arguing over you and Riddle," he said, fixing me with the mother of all glares.

_Yeah, those are definitely Pansy's eyes_. Blinking in surprised response, I leaned back a bit from him. I could feel that invisible drill he bore into me. "What? Why? Wh-?"

"Oh, come _on_, Thalia!" he cut me off. "D'you really expect us to believe he was just making sure you were okay?" His usually soft and tranquil blue eyes looked like two hard and cold sapphires stuck into his angrily contorted and blotchily red face. "He wouldn't give a shit if you dropped dead let alone go to visit you twice in one day to make sure you recovered from a fainting spell!" His voice had risen and he yelled now with the whole of Gryffindor table staring at him, some with open mouths.

"That's _enough_, Mike," Eliot hissed, his nostrils flaring and his caramel eyes ablaze.

Mike rounded on him as if about to lay into him, but seemed to have thought better of it when his eyes fell on the pale form of Emily sort of leaning toward Eliot as if trying to protect him. He sneered and threw another nasty look my way before swinging his legs over the bench and murmuring, "Fine. It's her life, anyway." With that, he stalked off toward the marble staircase.

I sat there, rooted to the spot. Shock froze my every muscle it seemed, my nerve endings – I couldn't feel a thing other than surprise. This went past just how he'd yelled. Please, like yelling does that shit to me anymore. No, it came for everything he'd said. It didn't take a bloody genius to figure out what he meant to convey and who he meant to reveal as having the same theory painted on them between Eliot and Emily. And I couldn't truthfully say that I thought him wrong at the same time – my moral compass would probably explode with a lie that runs so deep into my instincts. But so many other factors played into my defiance apart from the hurt I felt at his words: "it's her life anyway." _It isn't that simple_.

Swallowing the lump that had grown in my throat and nodding slowly in acceptance of the whole mess, silently promising to leave it this way – to not go after him (he'd left, not I), I shifted stiffly in my seat to Eliot and Emily.

"Thali," he said softly, gently placing his hand atop mine on the table right next to a jug of pumpkin juice.

I inhaled deeply and flashed the biggest smile I could, which also turned out a pretty pathetic attempt, but it got the message across, I guess. "It's okay. I get it and I get that you feel the same way." Exhaling the breath in a heavy sigh, I shook my head and continued: "But it changes nothing."

He nodded and nudged Emily in the side softly. "I told you it wouldn't matter. Please don't cry anymore, love."

She wiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her robes, nodding and letting her face part into a watery smile. "I know and I'm sorry I got so stubborn," she said, leaning into his shoulder. "I just felt you two were being unfair to Tom."

He nodded resignedly and said, "I know. But what matters is Thalia and she says nothing changes. We should just support her and maybe talk to Mike…maybe."

She grimaced, but nodded. "We'll see what happens. He took it hardest, Thalia, that you let Riddle even speak to you again and now this truce of yours." She sighed, picking up her fork again. "I don't think he'll forgive her – mainly because she never realized how he felt." She and Eliot exchanged superiorly informed looks.

He nodded, agreeing and sighed. "It's not her fault, though. With so many things going on in her life right now, how can she take his attitude as anything more than just friendly?" He gave me a pitying look. "She doesn't know him well enough to know how he courts."

I half groaned-half whimpered. "I was afraid of that," I murmured and took a sip of my juice to ease the bubbles that had begun to churn in my stomach.

Emily shrugged while Eliot scoffed. "What can you do?" they both asked.

Another groan escaped my throat and I swung my legs over the bench to stand. "I'm going for a walk. See you guys later."

"'Bye," they called forlornly after me.

Once I'd made my way out of the Great Hall with minimal stares and glares just because the Gryffindor table stood closest to the marble staircase and not the other House tables, I took on a deliberately slow pace and forced my legs to drag and lag as I made my way through the castle. I didn't really watch where I walked (I walked right through Nearly Headless Nick), but that didn't much matter. The snide, rude and honest side of my mind argued with the rest of me…and had a winning argument. Most of me wanted to find, apologize for my blindness and try to make things between us light and easy again – try to make shit right. But the snide side wanted to widen the wound and then pour salt right into it by finding Mike, apologizing, batting my eyelashes at him and then finding Riddle and kissing him in front of Mike. My snide side was a real bitch…and a crazy bitch at that.

Scoffing, I walked right around the corner of the corridor I'd treaded and saw the library. "Fuck!" I whispered to myself, remembering an essay I had due for Slughorn's class in a couple of days. "Ugh, might as well," I told myself, trudging in and over to the Potions and Alchemy aisle. It seemed simple enough, the assignment: a foot of parchment on the Draught of Living Death – properties, effects and shit like that. The question about the antidote turned out a trick question – easy enough to know from the fucking name (plus Slug gives himself away a lot), so I knew I'd get done quickly. I just got too lazy. But, sighing, I went to work on searching for any reference book, just to have a reference and not seem Darker than I already did here.

The soft murmur of students supposedly doing homework and/or studying surrounded me as I searched the aisle, letting my previous thoughts battle one another again in the back of my mind. A different part of it, though, had come to the forefront, right behind the semi-focused part that scanned titles, to watch the battling thoughts and to tear itself between laughing and crying. Laughing at the ridiculous idea that my bitch side had come up with of kissing Riddle and crying because I still didn't know whether I, as a _whole_, wanted the past to repeat itself. Did that shit even count as the past? _If you can remember it, it does,_ the bitch in me chimed. Maybe she wasn't so much a bitch as a realist?

Sighing in a frustration, I shut out all the other parts of my mind that had not focused on titles of books so I could concentrate. I needed to get this done. As stupid as it sounds, I still need to worry about my grades. Why? Easy. I still don't know exactly how much time I will have to spend here – how long the circuit lasts. I need to prepare to stay as a student for a long time. Most of all I need to keep up with Riddle and his courses. So, never mind people dying somewhere in 1997. No, phooey with them. I needed O's in everything….

Turning into the next aisle, and mentally preparing to not vomit when I saw the next redundantly useless title, I spotted a powerful enabler of procrastination: Black, Malfoy and Nott all huddled together at a table toward the west end, heads bent over an old book and some parchment, whispering to each other. I stood there a moment, in the dividing aisle between the rows of shelves, debating on whether to go and take my frustrations out on them (they _are_ most likely part of the reason why Riddle didn't want to tell me what people thought he was doing while he visited me) or to just continue my fruitless search on an unneeded reference. As if I really had a choice.

Narrowing my eyes like a hunter stalking its prey, I took exactly one half of a step toward the trio of Darkness back there before a soft snicker set my nerve endings ablaze with warnings and chills. _Ah, the contrasting effects of that sound – don't you love it? …Shoot me. Shoot me now!_ Why the fuck did I know that sound so well already? I suppressed a shiver or a cringe or something kept trying to escape my very center and turned to face the owner of the blasphemous noise. My jaws and fists clenched tight, I just glared into the pale, smirking face of the raven-haired Prefect who leaned against the side of a shelf, a book in his right hand. "What's so funny?" I pushed through my gritted teeth when I trusted myself enough to not yell.

His smirk only broadened as he straightened up and nodded once in the direction of his friends. "They're just a few of those who speculated correctly. They'll eat you alive."

I gave a defiant, "Puh-_lease_," and folded my arms across my chest, putting my weight on one leg in a nonchalantly defiant pose. "I can take care of myself."

His smirk still firmly in place, he shook his head. "That's not part of the truce. Friends don't let friends drive drunk."

"You mother – I'm neither drunk nor driving."

He shrugged most arrogantly. "It's the same difference when it comes to you. You'll end up in the Hospital Wing either way." Narrowing my eyes in response to this bit of unwarranted verbal shanking and even growling only made him laugh out loud.

"You've got jokes, huh, Riddle?" I accused over his peels of soft laughter.

He stopped laughing but kept smiling and stepped forward, stealthily taking my right hand in his left. "Would you like me to accompany you to your social death?"

Another growl and I yanked his hand with me as I turned and set off for the three boys. But about two steps away, I felt him pull me back or rather, I got held back when he didn't budge. Frustrated and getting angrier by the minute, I spun back around on my heel to face him. How dare he keep me from proving that I could handle his little friends…even when his presence would only make it that much harder to do so? But my anger somewhat dissipated at the sight of his proud smile. "What?" I asked a bit stupidly. _Nice one…. Callate**._

"I'm sorry. I was a bit too hard on you, wasn't I? But you made your point and most valiantly, might I add." he said softly, eyes scanning my face once more.

I cocked an eyebrow confusedly and asked, "Hard on me?"

He nodded. "I was only teasing you because I knew you'd be going to see about what they'd been saying earlier, but it seems I've made you angry with me." He finished off still smiling albeit a bit sadly.

I rolled my eyes. "Riddle, you're so sensitive." I sighed. "I guess I am too. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that. I knew you were just teasing. I guess old habits die hard." I tried at a bit of lame and corny humor and got a happier smile from him. I smiled too.

"I'd be sensitive too if the first news I received out of the Wing was news that my dunderhead of a friend has a crush on me," he shanked, letting my hand slide from his and setting off at a fast pace toward the east end, turning quickly before I could catch up to him.

I huffed but laughed as I ran to catch up. "You heard that?"

"Every word, Espinoza," he drawled stepping lithely past empty seats and tables toward the south wall and eyeing my attempts to keep up with him. Now, I'm not one of those girls that claim total ditziness – because I'm not. Let's be honest. I will never take up ballet, but I fare okay. I kept up sort of well with his litheness. "Here," he finally said, stopping at the back wall where an empty table stood right next to the Restricted Section. "You talk and write and I'll be your diary and proof reader." He laid the book he held down on the table (Ancient Runes I guessed from the symbols on the cover) and pulled out the chair closest to the wall.

I scoffed, walking to him and lowering myself in as he gestured for me to do, and said, "How'd you know I still needed to do something?"

Smirking, he sat in the seat next to me and said, "You're not the type to be in here unless you _really_ need to be."

My eyes narrowed. "And you _are_?"

He merely flicked his wand and made parchment, ink and a quill appear in front of me. "Write and tell me what is it exactly that your friends think I'll be trying to do to you with this truce?"

I sighed, pulling the materials toward me. _Here we go._ "I don't know," I lied. "Part of me thinks that this is just old habits dying hard – Slytherin versus Gryffindor – a big part of me is _wishing_ for that more like it." I scribbled down a short intro before continuing on with my rant. "But Mike…ugh!"

"Hmmm, I suppose I'd say the same thing," he drawled a bit more than just sarcastically.

I gave him a pleading look. "Be nice…please?" I really didn't have the energy just then to keep up with his sarcasm as well as my own, bullshit an essay and mull through my own confusion on how to approach the Mike thing. Well, not really confusion. More like reluctance, I guess…. I really just didn't want anyone to know how right even I saw them about mine and Riddle's truce. "I don't know what to do," I said, feeling myself caving. But I recovered almost painfully quickly. "I mean, I could care less if any of them likes you or not." His brows quirked ever so slightly but nothing else reflected that he took that as anything more than face value so I continued. "I just wish he didn't make such a big deal out of it…."

Heaving a bored sigh, he leaned back into his chair. "You've never been in a relationship or even gone beyond just liking someone's face, have you, Thalia?" He eyed me from the corner of his eye in an almost arrogant way and I knew immediately that he meant to suggest that I've only ever like him or something close to that.

I sucked my teeth. "Don't be so cocky, Riddle, and…n-no not really, no."

His brows pulled together in mock confusion as he asked, "Cocky about what?" I started to answer him, but he pushed on. "Anyway, maybe you've never looked deeper than the surface in any potential partner, but your friend sure seems to have done so. He likes _who_ you are, Espinoza, as a person." He shifted to face me completely and continued. "Before, he would never say much about you admiring me from afar because it was just that – from afar. But when he saw that you weren't kicking me out of that Wing, apology hanging from my mouth, he broke. How is he to compete?" I let a low rumble escape my throat as a warning for him to not go there, but he just kept going. "He already knows you like my face, Thalia; now imagine his poor little heart when he realized that we have the ability to cross boundaries that don't exist."

I grimaced. "But why? He can have _any_ girl here. Why pick the only idiot with _poor taste_?" I aimed my emphasis on the last two words specifically at his assholeyness just then.

He just scoffed. "It's different for you – you're over me. You can't understand the disillusion of seeing the one who became special get close to another."

Part of me wanted to protest. Of course I knew that kind of disillusion and he'd put me through it. But in another life, for another temptress than a woman and for another reason. "I guess not…" But he wouldn't off that easily. All his picking on Mike came to a head and that head indicated that Riddle knew a thing or two about this kind of sentiment…this disillusionment as well. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

I don't know why the side of me that had really already accepted the fact that I have a crush-thing on Riddle kept thinking that he'd react differently than dictated by his own mannerisms, but, of course, nothing had changed. I'd expected him to maybe scoff or show some kind of defensiveness. But no, nothing. "It's all observation. My lack of pursuits should have told you that."

I scoffed half in the sheer amusement and half in disbelief. "Never? Not _once_ have you ever liked a girl?"

He flashed a sly smile and nodded. "I've liked girls – _a lot_. But not in the way he likes you. It's more in the way you liked me."

I'd started scratching through a couple of bullshitted paragraphs, but at that comment threw the quill down, having had enough. "Get over yourself, Tom. You're not that hot – I didn't even notice your face until I passed out, which should tell you something."

"So what did you ask me out for?" He still fucking smirked, this prick. He loved getting under my skin.

"Pssh! Are you _seriously_ fishing for a compliment?" I asked incredulously and turned to face him.

He laughed a single "Ha!" before explaining, "Thalia, I know you've seen what surrounds me, we've covered this already – how you stand out from the other girls. I only ask, not because I have some self-esteem issues and need you to stroke my ego, but because I know there's more to it than looks for you. I'm just curious, if you must know," he finished off, turning and leaning back into his seat, keeping his eyes on me.

I sneered slightly but laughed, amused. "Okay, if you're so curious and _must_ know…" I hesitated. Did I _really_ want to even lie about this? I mean, I'd aimed for authenticity, no? The truth could actually help me here. "…it was your form of being. Even when we first met, you caught things that not even I could catch – you kept a clear head in a situation where most would probably freak out and…" I flashed my eyes up to meet his, nervous…scared even. This part I'd kept hidden even from myself because I knew the truth in it would shatter something in me. I feared for my own identity. "…when you even used those bits you caught to try to get information out of me – cornered me, basically – all I could think was 'wow…that has to be a record of some kind.'"

He didn't quite smirk anymore but he didn't look serious or angry either. He looked intrigued to the best of my observation.

I continued: "You learn so quickly. You pick things up even when they're not there – I've seen you do it in class and it…it amazes me, honestly." And with that bit of truth now out in the open, a part of me did shatter. Not my identity or my soul. No, the part of me that wanted to throw up when I thought of this crush-thing turned to finely ground powder under the weight of this. _Huh…funny…. What the fuck just happened?_ I scoffed, even more scared and covered up that fear. "But, like you said, I'm over you," I said, picking up the quill again and scribbling some more BS down.

He laughed. "You should give your friend some lessons. He got cheeky with me when we ran into each other on my way here."

I grimaced over my conclusion and he continued. "Don't worry. I was kind." He smirked.

An unsure grimace as my immediate response preceded a whispered, "Thanks." I finished off the essay, pushed it away from me and shifted in my chair so that I now leaned against the wall and my knees at chin level, my forearms resting atop them limply. "We knew this would happen."

He nodded. "We did." Turning again to me, his face the mask of stoicism, he said, "I'm perfectly fine with your friends not trusting me. The truce was for you and me, not for them. But if this is too much stress for you and you feel too torn – "

I just rolled my eyes and let my head fall back as I released the most frustrated growl yet. "No. I'm fine – I really am. I never led anyone on," I sneered, lifting my head back up to look him in the eyes. "I never took anything for more than it was or hinted at anything. I shouldn't feel guilty and I won't. Besides, Mike said it, it's my life…and…and Emily and Eliot are still there for me – they understand…. He could too, but he's too stubborn."

"Birds of a feather," he said airily, pulling the parchment to himself and turned right in his chair, reading.

"Unlike you and your friends," I shot back.

Snickering, he asked, "What do you mean? You're just as smart as I am."

"And the three blind mice back there?" I jerked my hand in their general direction.

A muscle jumping once in his jaw, he turned to me thoughtfully. "It's a bit of what your Emily and Eliot have with you, I think." He smirked at the confused set of my face and explained, "Black is smart – sharp as a tack – and Malfoy, too. Nott has his moments as does everyone I associate with. But I'll be the first to tell you that they can all be a bit thick."

That didn't help much and I just looked at him even more confusedly. "Emily and Eliot aren't thick," I uttered defensively.

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Those three would eat you alive if left to their own devices. But they're not so thick as to try such a thing now that they know of our truce. Don't get me wrong, they're not as keen as you and I are to play nice, but they'll try – just like Emily and Eliot."

I nodded, understanding and shrugged. "I guess I would have made quite an ass out of myself if I'd gone over there, guns blazing, huh?"

His face scrunched up slightly as if he'd tasted something sour or bitter and he said, "That wouldn't be my choice of words, but yes, quite," and turned stiffly back to the parchment.

My brows pulled together, suspicion leaking into my expression. "What would be your choice of words exactly?" I asked bitingly, thinking he'd finally broken his mold of perfection and decided to pass sarcastic and go straight into rude.

He looked at me from the corner of his eye and something seemed to dawn on him. He sighed. "Not what you think, Thalia. I don't use that language and especially not with a lady – odd as she may be. I meant to convey or at least to accept your rougher expression while conveying that it doesn't quite match your appearance."

I just blinked. "What?"

But he shook me from a very dangerous train of thought that had begun by saying, "This is very well done. I'm impressed," and turning his attention back to the parchment.

Blinking again to pull away from the thoughts that wanted to pull me into unknown territory, I muttered my thanks and leaned back against the wall again. And I just watched him. I had no idea what had happened to me. I tried making a mental checklist to see if I'd kept on trackl. _Observe Riddle: squiggly line for In Progress; Befriend him: check; Plan: N/A – memories still needed. Fuck._ I thought of the tiny hourglass that rested against my chest and wondered how much of the sand would rest in the bottom half by now. How fast could it spill? When would the rest of my memories return? Would they? Yeah, Dumbledore had said they would but how could he know if he himself had said that this had never happened before? I didn't even know how long this loop went on or when I'd get sent home. Would I have time to deter Riddle? Would I _need_ to?

_That's _really _dangerous territory, you. Don't even think of holding back on him. You strike and strike hard…. But…_

"What's on your mind," he asked, breaking the troubled silence and not looking up from the book he'd pulled to himself without my noticing. He looked…normal. He looked like he always did: pale, smooth skin, jet black, neatly parted hair, neatly pressed robes that hung slightly loose on his frame, and – okay, I had already tired of saying this, but it remained true – breathtakingly handsome features, which had set thoughtfully so that his lips, full and red, pouted slightly. He looked perfectly normal… just…more human. I found it hard to explain. He always looked this way and nothing had changed in the last month on his part. But I knew I'd started to see in him what the rest of these chicks saw and the way they saw him. Not just the distorted version of him I'd concocted when he freaked me out on our first meeting and when I discovered his true identity.

_How can I know that I haven't already changed him?_ "Just wondering why our Houses can't get along like you and I," I provided.

He nodded understandingly. "Do you think that would be best?"

I shrugged. "We're still alive."

"We are."

We said nothing more for the rest of the hour. The silence no longer troubled or even uncomfortable, actually felt peaceful – outwardly at least.

I'd finally heeded my warning thoughts about the thought process posing a threat to me and saw myself falling prey to it. My fear spiked in response to my own peace and lack of calamity as I sat right next to Lord Voldemort – as I _bonded_ with him, listened to him breathe and watched the pallor of his skin glow paler in the dimming light of the dying candles. Impatience joined the fear with the thought that my heart didn't thump wildly at knowing that he had his wand. The full, powerfully intense presence of calm as I watched him pour over the book, noticing how wrong I'd turned out about him staying perfectly still when he read in my past analyses of him alarmed me. The smirk pulling at my lips as I watched his eyes glaze over once in a while and his lids blink them back into focus felt stupid and brash. The tickle in the back of my own throat – an urge to cough – when he cleared his throat quietly got laughed at by the bitch side of me. My own _not_ panicked realization of that damned pool of tenderness in my chest growing when he would surreptitiously flick his eyes my way and I'd look away to hide my memorizing process came off as most blasphemous to my deepest survival instincts.

In sum, this had scared me shitless. But apparently, I realized as the sound of muffled footsteps accompanied by a hushed 'oh-ho-ho' reached my ears, it could get much, much worse.

I flinched at the sudden _snap_ of Riddle shutting the book before, with an almost invisible flick of his wand, he vanished the materials before us except for my piece of parchment. He stood, snatched it up and handed it to me before hissing, "Get up. Just show him this and if he asks you to the dinner party just say 'yes'."

"But – but I don't –"

"Please, Thalia?"

_That should be _illegal_! He should not be _allowed_ to look like that when asking nicely._ His eyes sparkled with the tiny bit of light surrounding us under his pleadingly angled eyebrows and his lips parted slightly as if ready to persist and ask again if denied what he'd asked for.

Yet, I didn't feel totally hopeless. I still had all my faculties present and readied myself to say 'no' to him (I hated Slughorn's parties in my own time when people I _knew_ were there with me, now imagine when I'd be all alone). But then, it hit me. Riddle would owe me if I accepted. Besides nothing had gotten set in stone about Slughorn inviting me. I hadn't performed to the best of my ability in front of him on purpose this time around. So, I nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered, grasping my hand tightly once and letting go just as the rotund, velvet covered belly appeared just around the spot where Riddle had turned to end up back here. I just watched, counting the moments to my torture, as he squeezed his large form through the clutter of tables and chairs with Black, Malfoy and Nott right behind him.

"Tom, my dear boy! Oh, and Ms. Espinoza. Oh-ho-ho!" the walrus – I mean, _Slughorn_ exclaimed, doing his best impression of surprise. His mustache twitched and wriggled as he smiled slyly and waggled his eyebrows. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Black said you'd be back here and that you might be helping someone with homework, but he said nothing of it being Ms. Espinoza here." Another sly look and he continued. "I just wanted to make sure you were coming to my Halloween dinner party, Tom. You haven't RSVPed yet."

As I stood, I saw three things happen in very quick succession: Riddle's eyes went extremely dark and sinister looking while they rested on Black, then the darkness in his eyes disappeared very quickly and gave way to a shy sheepishness as Slughorn came to a halt with the three boys in front of us. "I'm sorry, sir. I am coming, of course. I simply haven't had time to RSVP with so many things having arisen so suddenly," he said with a slight flick of the eyes in my direction.

I felt the heat rise in my face then as all five pairs of eyes landed on me. Of course, the blame fell to me that he couldn't respond: I'd fainted all over him and shit. But Riddle undid his little attention displacement by turning back to Slughorn and saying, "And no, sir, you weren't interrupting. We were just finishing up looking over her essay to see if anything was left out." He turned to me again and gave me a thoughtful look before again placing the spotlight on me, "Actually, Thalia, if Professor Slughorn doesn't mind –"

The walrus needed only that cue. "But of course! Of course, of course! Hand it here, Ms. Espinoza," he trilled, practically snatching the parchment I'd begun to hand to him. His eyes scanned the foot of parchment quickly and he made several noises that would have sounded obscene in any other setting and situation. The smile on his aged face only grew more and more as he read on and I felt torn between smacking Riddle, who just stared at his three friends impassively, upside the head for setting the trap and laughing at my own stupidity. When Slughorn finished, he let out another "ho-ho!" and handed me back the essay. "You've been holding back, Ms. Espinoza," he accused, wagging another admonishing finger at me and smirking. "I didn't think you had it in you, honestly."

I stopped glaring at Riddle then and tore my gaze away from him to land it on Slughorn. Did he just call me stupid? _It's your fault, anyway if he did_. I forced a small smile and said, "Hmm, well I try not to show off like some people I know. Plus, Tom here did help me a bit."

Riddle slid his eyes over me appraisingly before smiling and saying, "Don't be so modest, Thalia." He turned to Slughorn again and continued. "I didn't even have to make a correction. It's perfect." I shifted uncomfortably on the spot, noticing Nott and Malfoy suppressing smirks. "She's quite talented, Professor, just a bit shy."

I inhaled deeply though my nostrils to calm myself and met Riddle's gaze, smiling even more broadly: always a dangerous sign coming from me.

Slughorn laughed his overly done belly laugh and said, "Not to worry, dear. I see you've already taken a liking to our Tom, and that's a step toward coming out of your shell and he will help as always. As a matter of fact," he began to rummage through the pockets of his magenta colored robes and I wanted to smack Riddle. "Here you are and I won't take no for an answer. I'm sure Tom could escort you if you're not familiar with my office," he said, extracting a slightly beat up looking scroll of parchment tied with an emerald ribbon.

_FUCK!_ I thought as I took the scroll and said, "Thank you, sir. Of course." My already strained and painful smile grew and I faced Tom. "He's so kind, I don't know if I could repay him for all he's _done_." The emphasis on the last word didn't stand out too much, but I knew Riddle heard it because he smiled even more broadly as well.

"I'm sure he's just glad to be able to help you. How are you feeling, by the way, after that spill?" Slughorn pulled his concerned face and I got distracted by how odd it looked momentarily.

"Much better, sir, thank you," I answered mechanically.

He nodded, satisfied with his good deed, apparently, and rounded on the three boys again. "Very well, then. Don't forget, boys, Quidditch tryouts are Friday. Tom, you'll have the list of hopefuls by Thursday evening."

Riddle nodded once quickly. "Great. Thank you, sir."

"You're most welcome, my boy. Come now, Black, Malfoy, Nott, let these two finish up." He herded them out of the section and as soon as they left us alone again, I unleashed my swiftest and hardest swat onto Riddle's shoulder.

He just snickered and said, "Well, you said you would go if he asked."

"You practically forced him," I hissed, pointing after Slughorn with the parchment.

The smirk on his face only broadened. "He was going to notice your brain sooner or later. I only helped him along. And besides" He began stepping backward and signaling for me to follow him out. "You got the date you wanted with me. You should be jumping for joy," he finished, leaping back slightly out of the way of my swinging hand. He caught it in his when I'd finally caught up to him out near the front of the library and held it still between his at level with his chest. "I'm kidding. Just consider this as banking on our truce. No one will get the wrong idea, trust me."

I relaxed a bit reluctantly and wriggled my hand free of his. "My friends already did and yours…well, you saw them."

He smirk faded and he nodded. "I'll have to clear some things up with them tonight."

I sucked my teeth impatiently. "Don't. I can handle them."

His smirk returned. "I'm sure you can. You fared well tonight." The smirk broadened and he began walking away again. "Let's see how tomorrow goes."

I groaned before stepping into pace with him as the thought of the next day hit me. Today perhaps hadn't turned out so bad because it night had already fallen, but tomorrow came a new day and new opportunities for gossip. "Well, I asked for it. I shouldn't have asked you out."

He just scoffed and walked out of the library, followed by me looking around to make sure no one had seen that. He slowed down a bit in the corridor. "It's still a bit early, but you should go to sleep now. Not to be rude, but you look like you've not slept in days." He eyed me slightly as we walked toward the set of stairs where we'd split up.

I nodded. "That's not rude, it's honest. I'm exhausted." We stayed silent until we reached the landing where he'd go down and I up and then I uttered a soft, "Thank you…for listening."

A single, stiff nod as he began to descend and he said, "It was nothing. Good night, Thalia."

"Good night."

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><p>Metiche* - nosy<p>

Callate** - shut up


	9. Timeless Traditions  Part Two

**A/N: **First, IceWolf90, your review made me feel awesome bubbles of glee burst in me. Thanks for giving the fic a chance and more for taking the time to review. It means a lot, especially with this new layout of allowing people to just follow a story instead of having to review it to keep track of it like in the olden days. Thanks. Moving on, WOOO! How long was I writing this one? OMG, yeah, I'm sorry it took so long, but you see what had happened was... I just wrote more than I expected to in an attempt to move the plot along a bit and maintain my level of not so perfect perfection (xD). But hey as a result you have plenty of reading to hold you off until the next chappie, right? *crickets* Okay, I promise to hurry my ass up, then . Well, this chapter... hmm... it was a bit weird for me at first read because I'd lost sight of the Riddle I was trying to write (which in all reality is true to JKR's book version - he's human as a teen there too). But when I took the time to realize that my aim is to get people to say "his heart beats just like mine does", I liked it more than I had. Anyways, read on, read on and you know what to do. BTW, if you guys really like the fic, don't hesitate to share, dudes/dudettes. Remmeber, reviews make me bubbly and warm. =) ENJOY!

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Eight: _Timeless Traditions – Part Two_**

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><p><em>"Change is such hard work." – Billy Crystal<em>

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><p>"<em>I<em> saw them in the library all cuddled up, I _swear_."

"I know and I saw them _kissing_."

"He had his hands all over her brea –"

"_Enough!_" Eliot roared at the huddle of girls not ten feet away from us, looking beyond mortified.

I burst out laughing. "Easy, Eliot," I breathed in a laugh.

"I heard they're _dating_ already!"

"Meh." I shrugged. "I wouldn't call one date with a teacher present something to piss your pants over." I called over my shoulder at the girls.

Eliot shook his head, a disapproving set to his mouth that battled with the smirk wanting to escape the confines of his correctness.

Chuckling at the sight, I said. "C'mon, Eliot, you're gonna tell me that, had they been guys and were you in my position, you wouldn't do the same?" I cocked an eyebrow mockingly and reached for some cereal while he just shook his head and covered up his laughter with eggs.

"So, Quidditch is starting soon?" I asked conversationally and sprinkled sugar on my corn flakes.

Eliot nodded, swallowing a bite of food. "We're a bit late off this year and tryouts are first but, yes, soon the games start." His smile faltered and his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Heard Slughorn tell Riddle he'd have a list of hopefuls by Thursday and I was just wondering if he was getting a head start on the pitch." I tried for as much nonchalance as I could, running the spoon around the rim of my bowl and letting my eyes rove over the Great Hall in a very uninterested manner. I didn't need Eliot's prudish opinion in this situation – not that it counted for much. Females played Quidditch well enough by now – this I knew better than the back of my own hand.

"Oh." He looked pacified and nodded understandingly. "No, Dippet's pretty fair about that. Gryffindor tryouts are Saturday; Ravenclaw's are Sunday and Hufflepuff's on Monday."

"Hmm," I uttered conversationally, trying to keep up the balance between boredom and interest so he wouldn't stop talking before I got the information I needed.

I didn't needed to, however, because it seemed I'd hit the topic that couldn't keep Eliot within his social opinion. He let me know that he played Chaser and that Mike had made Captain (_Fuck my life,_ I thought and almost choked discretely – very ladylike of me) this year. He mourned a bit over the rough streak Gryffindor has had in the last few years with Slytherin taking the Cup from them in vicious losses and commented on the quality of games the players they'd had in recent years gave and compared them to famous names of the time that I'd only ever read about or heard my brother talk about in my younger days. Apparently he didn't mind that females played Quidditch so much for their safety as for the fact that only one female he'd seen to date could even get considered any type of player, in his most humble opinion: one Jocelind Wadcock of the Puddlemere United team.

"Yeah, she's awesome," I commented, finally feeling like we met eye to eye on something and smiling in reflection of his as he recounted some game he'd seen of hers.

He went on uninhibitedly telling me how he'd wanted to beat one particular player senseless for the last three years and how thankful he felt that this particular person's time here at Hogwarts had ended so he could no longer defile the name of the team with his foul Seeking skills or lack thereof.

"So, the Seeker's spot is up for grabs?" I asked excitedly and almost knocked over my water as I gesticulated more than necessary.

He smirked. "I knew it."

Momentarily befuddled, I realized I'd let my charade slip. "Pardon?" I tried to bullshit without much hope that it would work. I'd shown enough of my true Quidditch colors to let him know why I'd brought the topic up and I realized he'd just waited for me to skim even the tiniest portion of my intention to land me.

He cocked an eyebrow arrogantly and just kept on smirking for a few seconds before that smirk turned into a sincere smile. "Go for it."

I felt my brows pull together and my mouth fall slightly open at these words. Had I heard correctly?

He nodded, as if able to read my thoughts. "Thalia, you're small, light on your feet – though at a cost if your fainting spells are common – and if you enjoy the game even half as much as you just let me know you do by just listening to me go on about it, then you're halfway there. Just tryout and Mike and I can…" He trailed off at the look on my face when he reminded me about Mike's captaincy just then and sighed when my shoulders slumped slightly. "Thalia…he is so sorry. He's been kicking himself since last night for what he said."

I shook my head, not wanting to hear it.

"I swear to you, Thali, he can't even find the courage to come to you – he doesn't have the face to apologize."

I scoffed. "He shouldn't have to," I mumbled, finally, after pushing back the bitterness and staring the truth down. Mike shouldn't have to apologize for what he said if he truly felt this way and, moreover, turned out _right_. So, he cursed at me. Big deal. Give it another forty years and not even the most prim and proper could say I didn't deserve it.

Obviously, Eliot saw every bit of this thought process or he just knew me that well because he sighed and said, "I know it's hard to face when someone speaks the truth about something…or someone and it's a truth you don't want to hear. But you know what's best for you and he should have respected that you'd already made your decision."

I pulled a face reflecting how I'd started to believe his words. "I know, but…"

"He knows as well as we do that he was right, but he's not willing to use that as an excuse for this rift between you and him anymore." The bell rang and he stood, coming over to my side and helping me up needlessly. "Talk to him."

Finally caving and nodding, I slung my bag onto my shoulder and went with him to meet Emily, who'd skipped breakfast to finish an assignment in the library.

* * *

><p>The week passed slowly. Tuesday yielded no more than Eliot and I trying to avoid telling Emily about me trying out for Quidditch (or anyone else for that matter seeing as it would get back to her) to save her the titty attack. Wednesday and Thursday went okay; I put Greengrass, Selwyn and Hornby in the Hospital Wing separately but surely after 'minor spills' in the corridors and one out on the grounds. This time I caught a detention from Merrythought for Selwyn on Thursday but I thought it worthwhile; watching her frantically trying to detangle her once-blonde-now-lime-green locks from her rapidly growing, yellowing and curling teeth: priceless. I served my detention very proudly and even met some more people in there among whom stood Rubeus Hagrid (go figure out how I'd missed him for a month) and Prefect Minerva McGonagall. They'd gone to tease Hornby and Greengrass about their newly grown antlers and hooves. I didn't even know Prefects could get detentions.<p>

Come Friday, Defense Against the Dark Arts (my last official class of the day) went by mildly interestingly; I had it with Emily and she spazzed out about me trying out for Quidditch (Eliot had slipped when she asked him if he was ready for the up and coming practice sessions) for a few minutes until I reminded her about our conversation on the first day. Then she paid attention to the lesson on inferi. But other than that bit, it went pretty boring even watching Riddle and Black pass notes, which seemed odd but none too fruitful on information. After that, I went to spend the free period I usually had with him in Dumbledore's presence.

"A broomstick?"

I nodded quietly. When he didn't respond, I explained: "You see, sir, I'd like to try out for the Gryffindor team if that's alright."

A smile parted his lined face and he inclined his head to look at me over his half-moons. "You'll need to sign up for that, of course, and I'll order you a broom so you'll have it by tomorrow," he said in a very businesslike tone that didn't fit with the twinkly eyed smile he wore.

I grimaced a bit sadly. "Um, sir, I kind of don't…" I trailed off, embarrassed. I hadn't really thought of it until I realized I needed a broomstick for Quidditch, which seems really stupid of me seeing as I'd tried to go to Gladrags' the other day to buy clothes, but I didn't really have any money. I'd totally forgotten that my family vault in Gringotts probably didn't even exist yet, and, if it did, it did so only under another surname.

"Not to worry, dearest Thalia." He gave me another warm smile and shook his head, which let me know he understood my predicament. "That brings me to this," he said softly and stood to walk around his desk and over to another smaller table off to one side where there sat a rather large package. "I took the liberty of acquiring a variety of robes and Muggle clothing for you. I hope you don't mind." He said all this as he opened the box and showed me some of the items inside: some school robes, daily use robes, Muggle clothes (summer dresses, jeans, cardigans and jumpers, etc.) and even some shoes.

Touched and quite embarrassed, I said "Not at all, sir. Thank you so much. I – I'll pay back every Knut," assuring him. I stood and extended my hand to him to seal the deal.

He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "There's no need."

I didn't know what to do or say, so I just smiled wearily and thanked him again as he closed the box and, with a flick of his wand, vanished it, presumably, to my dormitory.

"I'll put your name down on the list of hopefuls before I hand it over to Mr. Parkinson." He assured, making his way back to his seat, again in that business tone.

"Yes, sir, please." I smiled freely this time, more at ease. Dumbledore remained a truly kind man.

Later, after dinner and after some more questioning from my own Housemates this time about the Riddle thing, I stood and exited through the front door to try to make at least the last few minutes of Slytherin's tryouts. I barely made it. A small mass of green stood out against the orangey-pink sky over on the far end of the pitch when I reached it along with another larger mass of black: the Slytherin team and their hopefuls.

"…Mulciber and Avery, your brothers will be proud," I heard Riddle saying as I approached. "…stand-ins can come and watch the practices but will not be asked to participate." As he finished that, I came to a stop about ten feet away at the foot of the stands and saw that the team comprised of members of his clique: Black, Nott, Lestrange, and Malfoy. They all wore the green Slytherin Quidditch robes and held gleaming, severely outdated – by my standards anyway – Cleansweep Five broomsticks. Two smaller, black clad figures stood with them as well, but I didn't really pay too much attention to them because I got too busy gazing at Riddle.

I'd never seen him out of his school robes apart from on weekends when he wore semi casual Muggle clothing and even then he always had his Prefect badge on. You can understand, then, how big a change it felt like to see him in green Quidditch robes that fit, not loosely, but just right and to see them windswept and disheveled, his Captain's badge gleaming on his broad chest. His hair no longer sat in its neat part but had blown untidily backward, some of the raven-colored locks falling forward into his eyes. He stood upright still, as he always had, but with another kind of authority about him out here on the pitch, enhanced by the way he held his broom. He looked rugged – like a bloody Quidditch player. It posed a significant change from the Prefect that I'd met just a couple hundred yards away.

"That's all. Go on and eat all of you. You did great," he addressed them all one last time as his eyes landed on me and flicked quickly over to his friends. He'd meant for them to get out of there as well. They did, Black and Lestrange smirking at the ground as they trudged off. I took note of the two smaller black clad figures from before and noticed they looked much like miniature versions of two other of Riddle's cronies. And it made sense to me, the first thing I'd heard upon approaching here.

_Politics, ha!_ I thought, a smirk pulling at my lips as I pushed off the stands I'd leaned against and loped over to Riddle who stood awaiting, his eyes trained on his team. "Captain, huh?" I commented, smirking still.

He turned his eyes onto me again and cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you'd have had that figured out by now, stalker."

My brows pulled together slightly in confusion, but I kept it light. "Bad day?"

He gave me a disdainful look and scoffed. "What do you want, Thalia?"

_What the hell? _I wondered and almost asked him that, but stopped myself. If I asked, it would mean I truly cared and just then, I really didn't want to. So, sneering as hard as him, I spat, "I just thought I could ask a favor and borrow your broom for a couple of hours tonight to get some practice in before tomorrow, but I'll take my chances rusty. Good night, then. Feel better." Composing myself as dignifiedly as I could, I made to turn and leave but the rush of air I felt when his robes swiped me as he stalked past stopped me in my tracks. He'd gained three yards before I noticed he didn't carry his broom with him.

Quicker than I'd meant to, I spun back around and almost lost my balance but caught myself as the gleaming black handle of his broom, glinting softly in the remnants of the day's sunlight, caught my eye. A glance back over my shoulder told me Riddle had long since exited the pitch. So, annoyed and confused, I stepped over to the Cleansweep Five – brand new – and picked it up.

It felt a bit odd at first because I hadn't held a broom for a long time (the last one had been the Firebolt that Dad had bought Jorge when he got out of Hogwarts). The handle felt too heavy and the end twigs didn't streamline like on newer models, but all the same, it felt _good_ to hold the broom, and even better to let go of it at waist level and watch it hover there, waiting for me to hop on. This time I did giggle when I happily swung my left leg over the handle and kicked off as hard as I could into the sky toward the setting sun….

* * *

><p>"Son of a – uff!"<p>

"What did I say about the rough language?"

I groaned pitifully in answer from my contorted position on the cold, hard stone floor of the top of the Astronomy tower. I'd begun to skid into an almost perfectly clean landing right from the pitch and then, just inches from stopping clean, _he_ came into view. And then came the gasping, the tripping over my feet and – the best part – the face-plant right into the far outer wall of the tower and the sliding down into the crumpled mess that I now detangled myself from. Cursing in Spanish, I separated my legs from the broom and pushed myself up into a sitting position, hurt as it might to do so.

"You know, just because you say it in another language, doesn't mean that I'll stop knowing what you said," he drawled, stepping lithely over the broom and leaning casually against the wall I'd hit.

Growling, and not really in the mood for him, I picked the broom up, quickly scanning it to make sure it hadn't gotten hurt, and shoved it at him. "Thanks. Good night." I uttered once he'd taken the broom and I'd managed to stand up, not meeting his eyes.

This prick purposely let my busted up ass limp to the door before he decided to pull his next little humorless joke out. "Thalia, you're out after curfew. That's a detention," he said and when I turned to look at him incredulously, didn't even look up at me. Instead, he looked over his broom and ran his fingers along the handle in a most uninterested manner.

I laughed coldly at this, confused and pissed and maybe even a bit hurt but not enough to register as such then. Mostly I knew I wanted to smack him across his bored looking face. "Fine, Riddle. Schedule me for whenever you want, with whomever you'd like and I'll serve it just fine. Adiós, hijo de tu pu* – "

"I don't think you'd like _me_ to say that about _your_ mother, now would you?" he jibed, cocking an eyebrow amusedly.

"Whatever. Goodnight." As I turned to leave, his hand suddenly fell upon mine, lighter than the frigid breeze that picked up around us in the dark.

"That's no less than _three_ times you've excused yourself to leave, Thalia. If you really wanted to be out of my presence as bad as you seem to think you do, you'd have even gone as far as to take the broom and fly elsewhere." He spoke softly into my left ear and I could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

_Careful now, you…. I know,_ I told myself as I controlled the spasm trying to make me lean closer to him and pulled my hand from his.

But he wouldn't have that. He retook it, as softly as he did the first time, and held it firmly. "Can I explain myself?" I looked at his face and he had no trace of boredom left nor did he look sarcastic. He looked sincere – like when he'd said 'please'.

"Bad day?" I asked gently again, turning toward him a little, but still keeping my distance.

He released a _whoosh_ of air in a breath and turned his gaze downward, guilt and a bit of anger, I assumed, creasing his forehead. "Very. I apologize for my behavior earlier. You must know that it wasn't you whom I'd meant to lash out at." His voice sounded clear but dripped with melting honey and that kind of subtle yet not so subtle remorse that hits you like a ton of bricks.

Reluctantly, I nodded. "Pssh, yeah, I know. I kind of figured that when you left the broom with me – thanks, by the way. But I was still…you know…worried." And with that bit of unchecked truth, the anger that had arisen at his treatment of me earlier dissipated and reappeared in another slot: at myself. Why the hell had I let that bit of attitude bother me so much? I could've used that moment to get even closer to him. I scolded myself mentally and as punishment made myself act like a decent friend toward him, although the realist in me knew better than to believe that that even came close to punishment. I tilted my head a little to try to capture his gaze and smiled warmly, genuinely, when I did. "We're cool, Riddle, I promise."

His answering smile and that tiny glimmer in his eyes spoke more clearly than any words could have….

* * *

><p>"You don't have to stay and watch me, you know," I said for what felt like the millionth time to Emily as she accompanied me to the pitch.<p>

"And _you_ know that I am dying to see this. Now hush, Thalia, and hand that broom over."

I handed her the brand new Cleansweep Five that'd arrived just an hour before at lunch and had lain, viciously protected by Eliot more than even myself, on the table. He'd only let it out of his sight when he had to go get ready for tryouts (Mike had gone hours before and was still avoiding me like the plague). Now, the time had come for me to prove myself and Emily wanted to watch. Don't get me wrong: I genuinely felt glad that her mind had opened up a bit, but I really didn't need, much less want, more of an audience.

It had gotten bad enough with my needing to talk to Mike _today_ because I couldn't do this shit of not talking to him anymore (he was my joking buddy – the one who actually _got_ the double meaning of half the shit I say). But add onto that the other students who'd come to watch the oddity of me try out for the Quidditch team when a female hadn't done so in…well, I'm not quite sure how long. Fuck, man! I already had butterflies in my tummy from the night before with Riddle acting all… I don't know. PMS-y, I guess. Now this shit? _Fuck your life? ...Yeah, basically…. Whiney brat._

After admiring it and commenting on how she might purchase one for Eliot seeing as his stood even more outdated than this one, she handed back the broom and wished me luck before climbing the stands when we reached the pitch.

Nervous, and wishing I could cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself, I walked the rest of the way through the pitch to where the mass of scarlet and black stood. It took a moment for the others to realize I stood there, but as I'd marched right up to stand next to Eliot, I'd put myself directly in the proverbial spotlight. All eyes fell upon me now and the whispers and snickers started. Some even felt bold enough to point. Up in the stands, the Slytherins that had graced me with their presence jeered and guffawed; the Ravenclaws girls giggled while the boys just watched a bit quiet; the Hufflepuffs sat serenely and politely attentive (well, they had some good about them); and the Gryffindors…supported me, to say the least ("_SPAIN! SPAIN! SPAIN!_").

"Shut it, all of you," Eliot said to the hopefuls, bored, as he scanned a list with Mike and every now and then pointed out one of the snickering kids.

I found my voice and said, "Nah, let them. I know what I'm here for." He eyed me from the corner of his eye, a smile adorning his softer features, and nodded.

Mike didn't even look up from the list but I did notice a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Only about ten of us had showed up, including me, and half turned out jittery first years, so Mike kicked their little asses off the field, leaving only myself and four other boys: one third year (Emily's younger brother, Patrick); two rather annoying second years who kept blowing kisses at me mockingly; and a rather large sixth year who'd pointed and laughed first. Then Mike spoke:

"Alright, since you're only five and it is the Seeker's position that you're going for, you'll be going up on your own. It's a simple test: catch the Snitch," he told us all, eyes passing over each one and his face as hard as stone. He held his hand out to one of his teammates who had the crate of balls at his feet and he in turn handed him something. Its wings fluttered around Mike's enclosed fingers and it gleamed brightly in the afternoon sunlight when he held it up to show us our object. "Ten minutes. Not a second more."

I cocked an eyebrow in surprise while the others grunted or breathed obscenities under their breath.

"Brown, you're first," he told Patrick, a small boy with Emily's hair and oval shaped face, blue eyes of his own, and a determined set to his whole frame.

Patrick stepped up, mounted his Comet 180, and waited.

"Go." Mike released the snitch and Patrick kicked off after it. Amazing – just totally amazing. He made that ancient piece of junk move in ways I didn't even think possible for it. Twice he barrel-rolled so fast and hard, while pursuing the winged ball though the stands, that he skimmed and bounced off wooden panels but balanced himself before he fell off his broom. He even flew upside down for a bit, but I think he owed that to a miscalculation in aim and balance. It didn't matter, though. Still pretty cool. He caught the Snitch in just under ten minutes (Mike had produced a sort of holographic timer that counted down the time against the sky), and got cheered spectacularly upon landing and waving the Snitch around victoriously.

The others didn't do so well: the sixth year flew too slow and weighed too much. He didn't even manage to catch the Snitch even with Mike not calling time until five extra minutes had passed. The other two…well, I really don't even want to think about them. They put their poor brooms to shame and landed themselves in the Infirmary.

"Thalia… you're up," Mike said, barely making eye contact.

I'd avoided him too, but that didn't mean that I'd forgotten what Eliot said about his remorse and wanting to apologize. I just didn't feel sure that I believed it much less deserved it. Inhaling deeply, trying to shut out all the noise around me – cheers, jeers, boos and laughter – and relax the beat of my heart, I stepped forward and mounted the Cleansweep.

"Good luck," came three separate voices and a glance around told me that Patrick, Eliot and Mike had all spoken, though Mike quickly averted his eyes.

I nodded and kicked off just a second after he released the whizzing Snitch. The nerves stopped, the pounding in my chest eased into a steady thrum and I flew into my own world. The wind lashed mercilessly against my already numb face, whipping my hair back, and caused my eyes to tear. Yet, I felt more free and relaxed than I had felt even the night before on Riddle's broom. I'd had Mike's wish for luck and that took a load off my shoulders. I looked around me once I'd done a courtesy lap for my spectators, making it look like I didn't know what the fuck to do. Then came the real problem. _Shit. Where'd it go?_ My eyes scanned the stadium for the tiny golden ball, but the sunshine then made it almost impossible to see around. Flattening myself onto the handle and closing my lids ever so slightly, letting my long lashes come into some decent use, I scanned again. "C'mon," I muttered, searching for the tiniest glint. "I know you're here. I can practically hear you."

It felt like forever had passed, with me just hovering there like a blithering idiot and scanning the field, when I finally saw the quickest flash of gold catching the sunlight. "Gotcha." And I took off toward the other end, marveling vaguely at how quickly I could move on this thing. Just as I'd neared the post where I'd seen the ball, its little wings beat a B-line path for 'the hell away from me'. "Fuck!" I cursed and yanked the broom toward where it had gone, compensating for the slight loss of balance by raising my torso a bit off the broom.

I had to pass the Slytherin stands in pursuit of it, and heard more than saw all the people there. The loud jeers and boos mixed with their raucous laughter only pushed me harder through the air and when I'd passed them, I fell practically right on the Snitch. It flew barely inches from me and I only needed to reach out and…

"_YES!_" I roared, feeling the tiny wings beating against my fingers, which enclosed tightly around it. I pushed down on the handle of the Cleansweep, listening hard through the whistling wind for more of those jeers and held the Snitch to my chest, a wide grin causing my cheeks to hurt. I landed and ran toward the awaiting group.

"Brilliant!" Eliot exclaimed, pulling me into a hug and taking the Snitch from me. "That wasn't even six minutes you were up there," he told me and pointed at Mike's clock. There remained a little under five minutes left on it.

I breathed an incredulous laugh, disbelieving of the evidence, and turned to Mike, forgetting the week's events and grinning wide.

He returned the grin and stepped forward. "Your skill speaks for itself." He turned to the others and said, "I think it's clear, here, no?" Silence met his words and only Patrick somewhat smiled. "You're her stand in, alright," Mike told him and the smile widened.

I still felt too pumped up from my own adrenaline and even some disbelief to pay much more attention. I just know that when I wanted to finally say something worth remembering to the asswipes that had cracked on me, they'd gone and left me alone in the locker room with Mike and Eliot.

"I'm going to go make sure Emily has no hard feelings. I mean, she wanted you to get the spot too, right?"

I nodded, somewhat distracted, and smiled at his wave as he left.

Mike took his sweet time and made quite a performance of changing out of his Quidditch robes.

I'd only come in to try on my new Seeker's robes and had done so already; I'd just waited for some time alone with Mike.

"Mike?"

He inhaled deeply, his already burly frame expanding a bit with the air, and turned around to face me with his eyes closed and a crease in his forehead. _You'd think I was gonna blow his head off with that face_. But I'd have bet my face didn't look much different. "Thali, I –"

"– I know, Mike, I'm…" I took my turn at inhaling deeply and closed my eyes. "I'm not changing my mind." I opened my eyes and so had he.

He just gave me a pained look for a few seconds before nodding, stepping closer and pulling me into the warmest hug I'd felt in a really long time. The emotion behind it, apart from mutual, felt incredibly strong and constricted my throat tighter than his arms around my torso. Yeah, I wanted to cry for so many reasons, but Mike didn't need to have a spaz attack over a weepy me. "Please don't cry," he mumbled into my hair. "I don't know how to handle crying chicks."

I burst out laughing and blinked back the tears that had started to brim. "Alright, don't worry." I pulled back a bit from him and stiffened my upper lip dramatically. "I'll be strong."

He laughed softly and squeezed me once more before letting me go and stepping back as if I'd scolded him. "Um…" He looked so stressed and developed a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. He blew air out of his mouth and inhaled copious amounts of it through his nostrils. He practically started giving birth right in front of me.

_Give the guy a break, you. You know what he's trying to say…. Yeah, but it's hard for me too. Can't I just let him do it? ...What and step back into the role of the weaker sex?_ "Mike, I know. You… you don't have to say it if you don't want to."

The look in his eyes when I said this reminded of a kid seeing fireworks for the first time in his life. "You are…so amazing."

_Here we go…. Make it stop, please!_ I felt the blush creeping into my cheeks as I averted my eyes and looked anywhere but at his face. "Pssh, yeah, sure. Mike, enough," I told him, fully aware of the heat in my neck and face.

"No," he said and I, for whatever reason that had made me look up at the tone of his voice just then, couldn't look away. "Thali, you know now what I feel. But you need to know that I am still so angry that Riddle is playing you like this…."

I grimaced. "I know, but –"

"No, listen to me. Riddle _doesn't_ visit the students he helps to the Hospital Wing, Thalia, not even those from his own House." I didn't say anything; I wanted to give him the chance he thought he had to warn me. He continued, "Much less does he get interrogated even if he was present at the injury." His hardened gaze melted into one of worry as his sapphire blue eyes bore into mine with such an intensity that it made it difficult to stay standing. I sat back down on the bench behind me and listened as he continued. "Watch your back, Thalia, please. I'm not going to ask you to end this truce of yours or argue with you anymore – this is way too risky for me to leave you one friend short." He crouched down level with me and took my hands in his. "Just be careful. Riddle…he's well known for being a model student, but I know there's something about him. He's too perfect."

I nodded solemnly. "I promise I'll watch myself around him," I told him automatically, beating down the part of me that wanted to answer him: "No shit." But I couldn't do anything. Riddle, as dangerous as he boded, remained my only hope. I, as stupid as I knew my 'plan' (or lack thereof, really) seemed, only had the one plan of action. Crush and whatever weirdness there stood between him and me aside, making him change stood as all I had left. It remained my focus.

I just had to keep going.

So, looking Mike in the eyes, I smiled and pressed my forehead against his. "I promise."

* * *

><p>In the weeks that followed that one, things panned out <em>so not cool<em>. Most days I deemed 'Christ, man' or 'what the hell' worthy. But they entertained me. That much I had to admit. But, honestly, what the hell else did I expect from this, right?

The truce meant for Riddle and I seemed to have affected more of the people than we'd meant to allow. I guess the blame mostly fell to me, though. _I_, the softy, kept trying to make some sort of odd peace between Riddle and my friends.

He and I usually spent our free periods without either of our groups, in peace, either in the library or outside on the chilly and slowly frosting grounds. We'd talk, flaunt sarcasm…have just a few more of those moments that we had on the Astronomy tower. Okay, if you really look at it, that really didn't count as 'a moment' and neither did these. But seeing as I'd progressively gone blind with respect to analysis and got more and more used to the idea of this crush, these _did_ count for me. When we would cross paths while we with our own cliques, things tended to get a bit dicey. Eliot and Emily tried – they really did – to keep civil tongues in their heads. Of course, it came for Emily than for Eliot, who could get pretty vicious when he wanted. But all the same, they, by a greater measure than Mike, treated him better. Mike. Mike, to say the least, turned into a complete ass-face when Riddle came around with sarcasm off the charts, indirect comments about Riddle's lineage, and general assholeyness. This didn't happen often, but the few times that they did cross paths did not go unnoticed and got paid back in sum and interest by Riddle's clique when we crossed paths.

Avery got just as vicious as or even more so than Mike had. He hated my guts and probably the micro-bacteria in them and I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his words every time he spoke directly to me, which (thanks to Riddle, I suppose) stayed at a bare minimum. Lestrange acted more civilly. He could actually maintain a decently flowing conversation with minimal sarcasm that actually made it easier to converse with him, though it did seem somewhat forced. Mulciber just…ugh! As dense as badly made flan, that boy. He and Malfoy made for fun subjects to pick on when I got the chance. The rich little brat, fucking Abraxus Malfoy, made it all too easy with his constant questioning about my past and lineage, opening himself up for blatant exposure of his lack of any real knowledge of magic. Black usually joined in on my sessions of fun. The easiest of them all to act civil toward (because I never did) he never expected it from me. He also didn't give me the looks Riddle and the others did when I used 'rough language'. Sarcastic, egocentric and cocky about everything, I deemed Black okay by me. I just couldn't ever tell him that. And Nott…well, he sat there, usually quiet and a bit standoffish but never kind nor rude.

All in all, Riddle and I matched out when it came to our friends. For this reason we strived to not include them when we hung out together.

The three weeks leading up to the next Hogsmeade trip for Halloween finally passed and we (Mike, Emily, Eliot and I) headed into Honeydukes. I needed chocolate and had gotten a sort of allowance from Dumbledore (out of the fund for underprivileged students again, I suppose) of about ten Galleons. Again, a very kind man that Dumbledore. The others just wanted a slew of sweets in general and so we made an hour of it in there.

On the way out the door, we talked about heading toward the Three Broomsticks for some mead or Butterbeers.

"We can't have _mead_, Thalia!" Emily, again, looked scandalized and a bit harassed.

I scoffed. "Please. I can have mead and then some."

"Bragging about lewd behavior, Espinoza? Such a lovely young lady, you are," came a familiar drawl.

Rolling my eyes and letting a smirk stretch my mouth, I turned to face Black in the doorway of Honeydukes'. "What's wrong, Black? Can't hold your liquor?" I jibed.

He smirked and tilted his head slightly in greeting as he passed me, followed by Lestrange, who cocked an eyebrow uninterestedly and then Riddle, who said, "Hello," with that small smile of his that I liked.

"Hey," I said, smiling. A quick glance over my shoulder at the expectant faces of Mike, Eliot and Emily swept away the urge to step to his side and fall into our normal routine. I couldn't ditch them for the Slytherins. I didn't like doing such fucked up things. "See you tonight," I called once I'd stepped out into the cold, almost freezing air and stood next to Mike.

He'd already turned halfway toward his friends inside but, when I said that, turned back to me, a thoughtful set to his face. Had he forgotten about Slughorn's dinner party? If he had, I didn't know if I felt glad or disappointed about that. "Could I have a word with you about that?" he asked, gesturing to one side of the store where there stood fewer people.

_Here we go. He's backing out…. So, what? You got what you wanted from the start…. Please, shut up. I really don't want to argue with myself right now,_ I thought as I stepped back into the store to follow him to one side. "What's up?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible. I'd already let too much slip by publicly bringing up the dinner party, which meant I'd spent time thinking of it – counting the days down even, in some eyes. But I could undo the damage if I played off the cancellation of our 'date'.

Slowly he stepped so that our positions rotated and he blocked me from view of the others before he asked, "Have you been able to acquire any formal clothing?" in a very low whisper. His expression clearly said I should answer in as low a voice.

I almost laughed, honestly, because I felt ridiculous with the line of thinking I'd taken. But then his kindness hit me. In a whisper that came out softer than I'd meant it to, I answered, "Dumbledore did purchase some dresses for me, but they're more for the summer."

He nodded, glanced around once and said, "Come. We need to pay a visit to Gladrags' more formal section." He offered his arm and smiled warmly.

I took his arm hesitantly, feeling kind of awkward and guilty now. "Um, Tom?"

"Not a word against it, Thalia. I won't hear it." He turned to his friends. "I'll catch up later with you," he said with a loaded look. It looked odd but I got too distracted eyeing my friends to notice much. Now, he turned to them and said in his dulcetly polite tone that he'd taken to using with Emily as a way of communicating with all of them. "Forgive me, but I must steal Thalia away for a bit." He flashed Emily's favorite and Eliot's most hated dazzling smile and bowed his head slightly toward her.

I gave them all a sheepish look as he pulled me past them gently. "Sorry, guys, you heard him. I'll see you guys later."

"Be safe," Mike said, grasping my hand so tight that Riddle had to stop walking or I'd have a dislocated shoulder. He took the opportunity to hug me and plant a soft kiss on my cheek with such a performance that I could practically feel Riddle's smirk on my neck.

"I will," I told him and pulled free of his embrace. I kept pace with Riddle as he walked toward High street and just eyed that smirk of his.

"Are you going to say something about it or am I?" he asked when we turned the corner, smirking so broadly it surprised me that his face didn't fall off.

I shook my head, biting back the heat trying to burst through my wind-smacked cheeks. "Shut it, Riddle."

He laughed softly and adjusted the arm I clutched, "We've got to be careful or he'll brand you 'Property of Michael Parkinson' right on your b –"

I gasped sharply and dramatically. "Language, Tom!" I said scandalized and mockingly.

He turned his face to me, still smirking and finished, "– beautiful face."

Well, that shut me up. My poor cheeks burned even more than they already did from the cold. Here presented another one of those moments: common, even in my era, turns of phrases or easy teasing and it felt like more than that. At least to me it did. Blushing, I smiled, and nudged him softly with my shoulder that barely went above his ribs. "Shut it, Riddle."

He laughed and guided me right through the door at Gladrags when we reached it.

Then I remembered my awkward guilty feeling. "Tom…"

"Thalia, shhh. I don't want to hear it."

"But –"

"Shut it."

I gave him a surprised look and ogled, speechless. His tone had turned almost rude like it had weeks before when I'd fainted.

He sighed and laid his hands gently on my shoulder as if preparing to explain something very difficult to divulge. "I've been where you are, Thalia. Things are a bit better off now – summer jobs have helped – but that doesn't mean I've forgotten how…difficult…that situation can be." He stared directly into my eyes and the sincerity in his words fell as heavy as lead in my stomach. I could feel how he felt in that moment – responsible, a powerful urge to make it easier on someone going through what he had….

I could nothing say to that, for, besides what he felt, I also felt my own shit. Tom Riddle, a fifteen year old orphan, had no money to his name with no one to give a flying fuck that he needed to buy schoolbooks, robes and other things. He'd had to accept charity and try to keep his head held high at the same time while stuck in a House where the people around him came from wealth beyond what his eyes had ever seen. He'd done this for the last five years and now welcomed me to the club but in a less harsh way than he'd experienced, I'm sure.

I really tried to not think of my situation because, in all reality, it didn't even exist. I had a family that loved me; I came from _some_ money; I never had to ask anyone else for a God damned Knut! But now, I'd ended up Tom Riddle. He saw it and the fact that he saw a different story made it worse: a story where my parents had gotten themselves killed; a story where I hadn't chosen to live without them. And so I nodded, with a heavy heart and a weak smile at him. "Thank you," I uttered, hating myself and yet still feeling quite sorry for myself. The paradoxical effect nauseated me.

He smiled softly and said, "Don't mention it…it might get you cursed by the Rumor Machine."

I laughed despite my churning stomach and mentally applauded his perfect timing. "C'mon, let's go find me a frilly, froofy, puffy, yucky dress," I said, pulling him by the sleeve toward the back section of the store.

He snickered as we passed the witch at the counter and said, "How did I know you don't like dresses?"

I scoffed. "I do, it's just…ugh!" I wanted to say that the dresses of this time period didn't fit my style, but I couldn't really say that, now could I? So I compensated. "The dresses worn here are too…conservative." I smirked at the raised eyebrow in response to that and stopped at a rack that held only about seven or eight dresses.

He fingered the hangers for a bit before speaking. "I kind of want to go to Spain now."

I almost choked. "Riddle!" I said in true shock and laughed at his smirk as he passed over to another rack with only about five dresses on it, fingering the lace frill that ran up the bodice of an emerald one.

"This one would bring out your eyes," he said and I shook my head still smiling and shaking with silent laughter.

I looked through all of the dresses there: lacy and frilly things mostly. A couple of them actually didn't look bad. They all had that nostalgic and classy feel to them that made one think of the old movie stars and peek-a-boo bangs and the popped bulbs of the old cameras. The emerald one he'd pointed out (sweetheart pieced short sleeves, thin lace frills that ran, curving and crisscrossing once along the bodice, emphasizing the bust and with a flared skirt), a powder blue dress (sleeveless, semi-plunging v-neckline with a rhinestone pattern on the lower part of the bodice and a ballerina length skirt) and a softer gold colored one that actually turned up a gown but too pretty to not try on got handed to him to hold so that I may try them on.

"Tom…?" I said softly from the dressing room curtain.

It felt strange modeling dresses for him, but I brushed that off as normal because I never really liked to model clothes anyway. I needed his opinion, though, because tonight I'd swim alongside the sharks and he knew best how I should look. "What do you think?" I asked looking down at myself and then back up at him.

He'd taken to looking out the window toward the mountain range just past the road and turned quickly when I called him. His eyes widened a bit and then traveled down the length of my frame right down to the shoes he made me try on. Two, three…four times he did this before speaking. "You…wow…."

"He bought them for you?" Eliot asked later on at lunch in the Great Hall.

They had come back early to wait for me, against Emily's request to give me some privacy with Riddle, and now passed around the package I'd brought back (dress, shoes and chocolate).

I nodded over my food.

Mike grunted.

I cocked an eyebrow and reached over to swat his shoulder softly.

He looked back at me and, after a moment of intense glaring, his face softened and he nodded. "Sorry. It's just – "

"I know," I said through a mouthful of potatoes. I gave his shoulder a squeeze and changed the subject. "Emily, you'll need to help me get ready. I'm a total mess in that area," I told her.

"Of course!" she squealed, and clapped excitedly. "You'll glow. When I'm done with you, Tom won't be able to keep his tongue in his mouth."

Everyone looked up at that and when Emily looked around she realized what she'd said. We all burst out laughing at her new deep scarlet color.

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><p>"Stop touching it, Thali! You'll make it frizz."<p>

"What the hell was all that hair smoothing crap for then if my hands will fu –"

"– and _no cursing_ tonight either. It's not ladylike," she scolded as she placed the final bobby pin in to hold a curled lock in place. Suddenly her demeanor changed and she sighed. "Thalia, do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?" she asked, straightening my head and flaring my sleeves gently as she stared at our reflection in the mirror in the girl's bathroom in Gryffindor tower.

I applied a thin coat of lip balm and gave her an 'are you crazy?' look. "Emily…" I sighed.

"I know, I know. But I can't help it."

I shook my head. "There are more important things, my love," I told her as I stood slowly, maintaining my delicate balance on these heels.

She smirked and patted my shoulder gently. "And yet you still deemed it important to look beautiful tonight."

I scoffed, looking at myself in the mirror. Riddle's reaction to the emerald dress told me I'd struck gold with this one. And as I looked at myself in it, with my wavy, chestnut hair pulled back into a half-do and gentle baby-curls framing my face, the sliver peep-toes, and the jewelry Emily lent me, I knew to trust his opinion. As easily as one could mistake it for such, this didn't express vanity. "It's survival, Emily, not vanity." I turned away from the mirror to her and smiled warmly. "Thank you. You have no idea how much you're helping me."

She nodded, and reached up to line up a strand of hair, smiling. "I know. You're revolutionary, Thalia. No one has ever heard of even talking civilly between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin." I rolled my eyes, seeing where this headed, but she laid her hands on my shoulders and kept going. "Listen to me. I'm not just talking about what I _know_ you feel for Tom. I'm talking about…well, everything. You like to play Quidditch and you play _well_, you know how to defend yourself, you're not afraid of speaking your mind…you're so independent." She inhaled deeply and released the breath, a look of awe on her face. "If helping you get ready tonight is helping you loads then what you've done for me is a world of help."

I could only give a small smile, a look of acceptance mingled with a bit of sadness marring it….

"You look absolutely stunning," Riddle said at the landing of the marble staircase as I came to a stop before him.

I smirked and answered, "You don't look so bad yourself." He didn't. He looked downright hot in his suit. I mean, it really didn't deviate much from his uniform other than that the suit fit his frame better and every aspect seemed perfectly emphasized. But, wow.

His answering smile seemed a bit rigid, but with my nerves running so high, I couldn't really stop to think about that.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.

I took it and off we went.

Down in Slughorn's office, things didn't go as bad as I thought they would. Yes, people from all Houses attended that had either smirked or leered at me as I passed with Riddle, but also the quiet kind had showed up and didn't even notice me. I liked them best. Slughorn came by during cocktails, 'oh-ho-ho'ed away and commented on how lovely I looked, causing Rose Selwyn, who stood by Avery nearby, to drop her drink on his shoes.

But other than that, honestly, this shit kind of bored me. Riddle barely spoke save for when someone apparently important came by. He looked terribly distracted, if I could comment on his behavior – like he couldn't wait to get the fuck out of here.

_Maybe he's nervous? …I dunno. We're usually okay alone, but tonight…._ I eyed him worriedly for a few minutes after we'd eaten and then he turned to me, rare for tonight, and smiled.

I returned the smile weakly and nudged him lightly in the ribs again, trying to see if the Riddle I knew had vacated his body.

His gentle squeeze of my hand told me he hadn't and I decided then to enjoy the rest of the party, mingling with him and other guests. I even went as far as small talking with Slughorn when he made a second run of the room and enjoyed myself as I joked around with Black when Slughorn left. I felt okay during the second half of the party, looking at the masks and costumes that some decided to wear, and relaxed. Therefore, it took me a while to realize that the eventual increase in the level of snickering around me had come for me.

I felt my brows pull together as I looked around confusedly. _What's up with this?_ Black and Lestrange didn't have dates (or at least they weren't with them if they did) and off to my right, still cracking jokes. But Avery stood with Selwyn, Greengrass and Hornby stood with Nott and Mulciber and they all huddled in the center of the room amongst the other guests, whispering and gesturing and snickering. Soon they'd pulled the other guests into their little secret and had some shaking their heads or laughing as well. Again, I glanced around, but this time I wanted to ask Riddle what he thought of this. Fail. Where had he gone? Again I rescanned the room and again came up Riddle-less. _What the fuck?_

It all clicked then and I rushed off to one side, feeling like I'd tried to outrun the wave of laughter that followed my own confused and frantic searching.

"What's wrong with you?" Black asked when I passed him. He smirked but a glare I threw his way wiped that off his face quickly.

I couldn't even figure out why I felt so pissed until I'd made my way as discretely as I could out of the room. Breathing hard through my nose and shaking, I clenched my fists and started walking up out of the corridor, aiming to go back to my common room. _I thought it was just a crush, you…. Shut the fuck up!_ That pretty much sums up the general flow of thought in my mind as I stumbled up the marble staircase. I stopped only to snatch my shoes off and continued up the north corridor, feeling the rarely familiar prickling behind my eyes. _Don't you dare…not for him…. I won't…._

I really wouldn't. I blinked away the oncoming moisture and started running down the corridors and up the stairs to the second floor. Here, I had to stop, however. I'd bumped right into Riddle at the landing and slipped backward toward the steps. I sucked in a sharp and painful gasp, feeling my heart jump into my throat at the loss of balance, but didn't even get a chance to fling my arms out to try to grab something before Riddle landed his vice grip on my left upper arm.

He straightened me up and let go only when I stood safely a few feet from the top step. "Goodness, woman, you're going to give me a heart attack," he whispered, stepping close to me.

But I barely heard him. I looked around at the other people – very many people actually – in the corridor with him. "What's happened?" I asked a bit out of breath and stood on my tippy-toes. Deathly quiet in the corridor save for a few whispers, it didn't feel right. My anger hadn't dissipated. It had simply taken a back seat to the cold of the stone floor and of the drafts from the windows and of the eerie scene. Upon standing on my toes to see above the many heads, I saw why they had all gathered there.

Sucking in another sharp and extremely painful gasp, I let my weight distribute itself evenly on my feet and backed up away from the crowd. "Oh my God," I mouthed.

"Thalia, be _careful_," Riddle hissed, reaching and grabbing me again to pull me to him.

Drained of all emotion but shock and panic, I could only let him hold me and shake. Shake, shake, shake and shake some more. "Wh-who is he?" I asked after a few moments.

"Prefects, lead your Houses back to your common rooms immediately," came Dumbledore's raised voice and I jumped at the sound.

"Thalia, go –"

I snapped back to Riddle and practically shouted. "No! You're gonna tell me what happened to you. Are you alright? Oh my God, and I was so angry." I spit this out quickly, clenching his lapels so he wouldn't move, my shoes bouncing off of his chest. I couldn't believe this shit had started again. I hadn't started Hogwarts yet when the attacks on Muggle-borns began in 1992, but I'd heard a lot about them from Dad and Jorge too. I didn't think much more on it when they said that everyone who'd gotten attacked would recover so I never even knew who'd attacked them. Feeling totally fucked and scared, I let my anger at Riddle dissipate.

He gave my waist a gentle tug as he began to walk to the end of the corridor and said, "Come with me, then. I'll explain."

I went with him, clutching his hand in mine the whole way back down to the dungeons, the image of the small boy who lay, petrified, on the cold hard floor burned into my corneas. I couldn't even cry for how shook up I felt. The warmth and security that came over me when Riddle covered my ears to keep me from hearing his password took my mind off of that poor boy. I slipped my hands over his and watched the Slytherin students all file into their common room, barely even seeing them. I could only think: what if that had been him?

"Thalia," he said softly to me, bringing me back to the corridor from my own scared depths with a gentle tap on the chin.

"Tom, who was he? What happened?" I croaked, feeling the panic contorting my face.

He held me gently in place, his hands on my arms, and gave a somber shake of the head. "I don't know. I was up there, trying to get some air – I apologize, by the way for leaving you without even saying anything."

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. Just knowing that you're okay…" I trailed off, finally hearing myself and feeling the pounding of my heart, the shaking of my legs.

A gentle squeeze of my arms and the stroking of my skin with his thumbs came as his answer to my affection and then he continued. "I came upon the group of people gathered there just seconds before you had and saw the boy…. Thalia, are you alright?" He raised one thumb to my mouth and gently tugged downward on my bottom lip to release it from my clenched teeth.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I'm perfectly fine. I just can't believe…" I stopped there and opened my eyes again. "Who did it?" I asked, sincerely wanting to know if in this period anyone knew the attacker.

He grimaced somewhat and shrugged. "There was only a note on the wall written in blood it looked like."

I nodded for him to continue, vaguely remembering what Dad had told me, and neededing him to confirm it.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened…. Enemies of the heir…beware," he uttered in a faraway tone, as if he could see the message before him. I reached up and touched his chin to tilt his face downward and his eyes met mine. "The Heir of Slytherin."

"Bloody hell…."

He nodded solemnly. "I know. Come, I'll take you up to Gryffindor tower." Taking my shoes from me and my left hand in his right, he stepped forward and I followed suit.

On the way up, he made me promise about ten times that I would take extra care from now. He also informed me that he would not allow me out of his sight during our classes together or if he saw me anywhere, and that he'd even escort me to my classes.

"But what about you?" I asked, a bit annoyed at all the protection now that I'd calmed down a bit.

He gave me a stern look and said, "I can take care of myself."

I gave him an incredulous look and countered, "So can I." We stood right in front of the portrait hole and I'd practically frozen my ass off, but I wouldn't let him off that easy. He owed me two now.

He sighed exasperatedly and brought my hand up to his lips, planting another soft kiss on my fingers. "Shut up, Thalia and just promise again that you'll be careful," he said, straightening up and handing me my shoes.

I scoffed a laugh and nodded. "But you promise me the same thing."

He cocked an eyebrow amusedly. "If you're that worried about me, fine. I promise I'll be careful." And with one last smile, he turned to leave. "Goodnight."

"G'night."

* * *

><p>*Adiós, hijo de tu pu: was supposed to be "Adios, hijo de tu puta madre", which means "Goodbye, son of your bitchwhore mother."


	10. The Way We Were

**A/N: **So, another really long chappie. YAY! IceWold90, I'm glad you enjoyed the last chappie and of course your review made me happy and so did this one. =) Hopefully you enjoy this one as well. MagicIsn'tAlwasyMight-TomFred, I have continued! Enjoy! =) The rest of you guys who fav'ed and alerted yourselves about my fic, thanks so much! Seriously, you guys, I'd keep writing this fic even if it had 0 reviews just because I love the concept that much, but your recognition makes the work put into it worth that much more for me. Well, what can I say? It didn't take me as long to write this one just because I already had this spilling out of me like Thalia's pool of tenderness - *cough*hint*cough* - but we'll see how you like it. There is an incredible amount of fluff in this chapter for me but hopefully I didn't make it too cheesy - at least in terms of PDA and of that specific situation. Well, you guys know what to do. ENJOY overall and let me know any way you'd like to. =)

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Nine: _The Way We Were_**

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><p><em>"I took some time out for life." – James L. Brooks<em>

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><p>Waking up the next morning, once again, sucked like a bitch. My legs and feet hurt as did my lower back, courtesy of the heels that I don't usually wear, and I felt a bit nauseous. All in all, shit sucked. Awesome.<p>

"You look like you could use some coffee," Mike said when I slumped onto the arm of the couch that he, Emily, and Eliot had squeezed onto. The packed and noisy common room found itself in such a state due to the panic that had spread from the night before that had started to creep its way back into my system. It hadn't made too much of a dent yet because I still hadn't fully woken up but it'd already taken a firm grasp in the people around me. Only noise with more noise interspersed with stuff about the Chamber of Secrets surrounded us.

"Blech! Nah, coffee and I are not friends." I still had my pajamas on and felt really cold, so I turned on the arm of the sofa and stuck my feet between it and Mike to warm them. "Anyway, can someone please explain to me in full what the hell happened last night? What happened with the feast?" I directed at Emily who looked very pale and clutched Eliot's hand so tight that her knuckles had turned as white as the bones trying to rip through the delicate skin.

She shook her head slowly and weakly, eyes filled with a rapt emptiness, and shrugged. I waited a few seconds but nothing else came out of her.

So, I turned my gaze confusedly and worriedly to Eliot, who looked paler than her and had his arm around her shoulders, holding her to him so tight that I could see the curvature of the muscles underneath his usually sun kissed skin. He obviously felt more lucid than poor Emily and answered, "The feast was still going – the band was playing still and we – we were just all dancing and suddenly Patrick came running right to Emily and before he could even say a word a girl screamed…so loud and…and horrible."

I got more confused with that bit. Where had Patrick gone? Why did a girl scream? How many people had gotten attacked last night? "Is Patrick okay, Emily?" I tried coaxing out of her.

Nothing.

Mike tapped my leg gently and jerked his head toward the portrait hole.

I nodded and, after assuring Eliot and Emily that we'd come right back (they'd jumped out of their seats when we stood, insisting that we go as a group anywhere), followed Mike out of the common room. "What the fuck happened, Mike?" I asked, feeling the cracks in my voice forming under the pressure of worry.

"Patrick and his friends Cristina and David, the boy who got attacked, were together going to the bathroom. Apparently David finished first because when they came out of the bathrooms they saw him lying there and the message: The Chamber of Secrets has been opened –"

"– Enemies of the heir…beware," I finished for him. "Is Patrick okay? Where is he?" I asked, stupidly looking around the empty corridor as if he'd crop up and say "I'm fine."

Mike looked unsure as he nodded. "He's okay – not a scratch on him, but David…David was like a kid brother, you know?"

I nodded and hugged myself, pulling my sleeves over my ice-cold fingers. "Why isn't Emily with him? What's up with her and Eliot? You'd think they'd be all over the…" I trailed off at the questioning look he gave me. "What?" I asked, my brows pulling together.

He blinked a couple of times before making a small 'o' with his mouth and nodding, remembering something, it seemed. "Right, you're from Spain – you don't know. Listen, Salazar Slytherin was one of the founders of the school."

"Yeah, I know that. He and the other three founded it like more than a thousand years ago."

He nodded. "Did you ever hear about why Slytherin left the school? Why every Slytherin today thinks they're the cat's freaking meow?"

Trying not to laugh at that last bit, I shrugged, not quite clear on my History of Magic. I hated the subject and never really had a need for it. I grew up in the magical world, what the hell use did it serve me?

"Slytherin only wanted to teach Pure-bloods," he said, his voice lowering an octave as if to avoid getting caught spewing the blasphemous bile of Slytherin's credo.

"Shit…."

He nodded solemnly.

How could I have missed the biggest part of this mess? The boy from last night had come up in a Muggle family. Slytherin wanted only Pure-bloods in Hogwarts. His heir has begun to cleanse the school as he'd meant to. Eliot had also come up in a Muggle family.

Shaking my head, I spoke the password to the Fat Lady and climbed into the common room, followed by Mike. "Come with me to breakfast? I…I…" Trailing off, I pulled a face, ashamed of the fear spiking.

He nodded and squeezed my forearm gently, before walking over to the other two while I stepped toward the girl's stairway to go change. Once I put on a pair of jeans and a nice warm jumper that Dumbledore had gotten for me, I went back downstairs to find the same scene I'd left. Mike kept trying to talk to them, but Emily still looked paper white and Eliot just barely said anything. "C'mon," I told Mike softly and gestured for him to follow.

Downstairs, after picking at some toast and juice, I looked around the Hall. Hardly anyone sat down there (it was there pretty early), but those who did had grouped themselves together at their own tables as close to the staff table as possible. I saw people in these groups that I knew despised each other. "Shit's real, isn't it?" I asked, watching one group bickering but stopping every now and then just to look fearfully around at a clink of a spoon or the rustling of an owl flying in.

"Very much so," Mike said over his cold oatmeal. "Ready for the game?" He wanted to avoid talking about the dreariness, I assumed, and so I ignored the bad transition of topic.

"Yeah. We've practiced so much."

He cleared his throat. "That's not what I mean, though."

"Then?" I asked, ripping apart a piece of bread.

"Riddle."

"Mike," I complained.

"Are you?" he pressed, Captain Mode turned on in him.

I sighed. "Yes."

"Good."

"Mhmm." I couldn't stop thinking of Eliot. Erickson, Eliot's surname, didn't stand out as one I remembered hearing of in 1997. _That could just mean he had daughters and not sons or granddaughters and not grandsons…._

* * *

><p>"Professor?" I pushed the door to Dumbledore's office open tentatively and peered around it, not wanting to interrupt. I'd heard voices talking right before I knocked and they all shut up when he'd told me to come in. I closed the door quietly behind me and looked at all the faces staring at me: Dippet, Slughorn, Beery (Herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff House) and little Flitwick. Suppressing the urge to ask Flitwick his age, I stepped forward past the scrutinizing faces and right up to Dumbledore. "Whenever possible?" I asked just below a whisper and only left after he'd inclined his head once.<p>

Not even two minutes had passed when the door opened again, spilling the professors out. I smiled and bowed my head politely at each of them in turn and even allowed Slughorn to squeeze the tips of my fingers in greeting before entering Dumbledore's office again. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to interrupt."

He gave an airy wave and shook his head, a 'never-mind' look on his face. "It was just a meeting on how to go about this dreadful situation. I may as well tell you that you are not to wander the corridors alone and that the curfew has been pushed back to six in the evening until further notice."

I nodded. "I understand. I only came down here alone because, well, it's to do with my personal situation." I shifted uneasily on the spot, staring hard at my trainers. "Professor…in the past circuits, has this happened?" Finally meeting his gaze, I let my ignorance show.

He gave me a scrutinizing look but did not answer. Instead he asked, with an odd tone, "This happened in 1997 as well?"

Shaking my head, I pushed out, most frustrated because apparently this had not happened before judging by his answer, "No, it was in 1992 – before I was old enough to attend. My brother was in his sixth year and he witnessed the same thing that happened last night with students from our time. But I was never told who was behind the attacks and never thought twice about it seeing as everyone made a full recovery and after that everything was fine. I mean, maybe I was being stupid, but I never gave the attacks two glances because my brother and I…" I suddenly felt very disgusted with myself even without the look I felt him giving me behind the glinting half-moon spectacles. His eyes got whited out by the glare from the light that flattened his lenses, but I could feel the judgment behind them and shut up.

"Attacks?" he asked quietly after a moment.

I nodded. "Even Nearly Headless Nick got some of the action apparently," I said with my head bowed.

"I should expect more, then," he said more to himself than to me, but when I looked up he had his back to me and he stood, staring out the window behind his desk.

"Professor, I…" I didn't know what to say. I just felt…disgusted yet a bit vindicated. The time I came from existed as a time of war before we even knew the war had come. My deepest instincts have always demanded every ounce of my concentration and strength to control, which is why I have such a hard time now trying to get close to Riddle when my instincts scream at me to run every time I see him and it had gotten even worse now with this…crush…or whatever because newer, more powerful instincts have begun to form. My instincts control me and to fight them feels unnatural. So, forgive me, anyone who thinks me disgusting for just worrying about my family and our protection when everyone else got targeted. _Maybe I don't belong in Gryffindor…._

I shoved the thought aside when Dumbledore finally spoke. "It is perfectly understandable, Miss Espinoza, that you should worry so very much – and especially at such a young age – about your family." He turned to face me with a gentle and warm smile. "You were only ten, Thalia. How could anyone else but your primary caregivers be of greater importance?" His question made it easier for the feeling of vindication to flow through me. It sounded right. My dad and Jorge remained all I had in this world…that world... Nothing meant more…then.

"Eliot, Professor," I forced myself to say, pushing back the thought of the real reason I'd come here…. Well, the _more to the point_ reason, anyway.

He nodded solemnly. "In groups, Thalia, groups. Please be careful." He inhaled deeply and exhaled a sigh. "Let us go present your Housemates with the lovely gift of more rules."

* * *

><p>"I'll kill them if they come near you, whoever they are," I told Eliot the next day out on the field as we all landed, having just finished Mike's impromptu practice session that he thought would help distract us from the attacks and relax us a bit. Epic failure, that. Eliot couldn't keep a hold of the Quaffle and got sideswiped by a Bludger twice. I told Mike to have mercy and call it quits early because Eliot came just seconds away from getting taken out by his own team and not the fucking Heir of Slytherin.<p>

He eyed me wearily from the corner of his eye and bumped his knuckles against mine before speeding up slightly so as to not get berated by Mike, who'd gotten very impatient with him and with Emily as well.

Letting him cross my path so as to escape Mike, I stuck my arm out slightly and grasped the robes that swept right into my hand: Mike's "Leave him alone, will you? "

"Thali, the game's a week away and –" he began, gesticulating wildly with his broom in hand.

But I cut him off. "– and nothing. He's your brother practically, you ass. You should be more worried about him and Emily too."

He huffed impatiently. "Whatever."

I shook my head, not really wanting to use this card, but as he wouldn't let up the wall he'd built around the topic, I saw no other option. "What if _I_ was Muggle-born?"

He let out a deep breath between clenched teeth to make a hissing, disdainful sound that let me know I'd accomplished what I'd wanted to. I cocked an eyebrow and released his robes, waiting for him to go after Eliot. He did.

Later, at dinner, after having changed out of my quidditch robes and locked my broom in the broom shed, I sat with Emily, both of us just pushing our food around our plates. This had gone on since yesterday and since the full intensity of the situation hit me. The worry I'd begun to feel when I started to really get scared had made me _really_ go down to see Dumbledore. Why hadn't I felt that the same moment I'd seen the boy on the floor? _Well, you did, but it left you when you were relieved to see that Riddle was okay…you didn't even think to worry about Eliot…._ That thought had sparked a thought process that forced me to wonder if I'd lose Riddle to this monster of Slytherin before I could change him. I'd really wanted to know Riddle's true lineage. Yeah, Slytherin House comprised of mostly Pure-bloods and so did his clique but Riddle remained an orphan and as far as I knew he could have any blood status.(_Whatever helps you sleep at night…. Shut up – he really could be. He never spoke of his status as far as I know in my time…. Dumbass, you weren't alive the first time around and the second time around, he continued his work of waging war on – drumroll, please – _Muggle-borns and Muggle lovers…._ Whatever._) Only, when I went down to ask Dumbledore this, I lost heart as I realized my own selfishness in caring only for my family and switched my concentration onto Eliot. Anyway, I felt it rude to ask anyone other than that particular person about his or her lineage. _That's my story and I'm sticking to it._

That didn't mean, however, that I'd forgotten how much I needed to know this – _needed_ to confirm that Riddle would survive (His death would probably be a step too far in altering the Timeline, right?). So the fear intensified two-fold in me: for Eliot and for Riddle. It tried, and almost succeeded, to starve me.

"The game's in six days, Espinoza, you should eat. I want all the challenge you can throw at me seeing as there's barely any there." That sarcastic inflection shocked some life back into me.

Dropping my fork with a clatter and not even caring if I hit someone as I swung my legs over the bench, I got to my feet and came face to face with one object of my worry. "I…" What the fuck did I want to say? I stayed thinking of him since…well, hoenstly I hadn't stopped thinking of him since September 3rd, 1942. But I don't know…I didn't feel ready to throw my arms around him and squeeze as hard as I could…not ready to admit that I wanted to anyway.

Not needing an explanation for the odd reaction I'd given to his words either because what he had to say held that much more importance or he'd already gotten used to me doing shit like that, he took my hands in his and sat us both back down on the bench. "Emily, please listen to me. This has to do with you as well."

Emily unfocusedly pushed the peas off of her plate and only shifted her gaze to Riddle when he called her name again. "S-sorry," she mumbled.

I cocked an eyebrow. She'd spoken. "Emily, he has to tell us something."

"Oh," she uttered and then went back to gazing unfocusedly at him.

I sighed and shrugged, turning back to Riddle and squeezing his hands. "I'll have Eliot tell her later. What is it?"

"Actually, he has to be here as well and so does your boyfriend," he said, turning back to me.

I growled.

He held one hand up. "Not now. This is serious, Thalia."

"If it's so serious –"

"There you are," he said, his eyes darting past me, and gestured over my right shoulder toward the Entrance Hall. "We need to talk."

Turning, I caught sight of Mike and Eliot coming toward our table, Mike with a sour look on his face and Eliot looking a bit pale still but more alert than before. "What's going on, Riddle?" Mike asked gruffly as he came to a stop right in front of our clasped hands. He towered over us, glaring darkly at Riddle.

Riddle stood and, with his head held high and a look of determination set into his features, said, "We need to arrange for these ladies to be taken to each of their classes safely."

Mike scoffed. "We can take them ourselves," he said, gesturing to himself and to Eliot.

"To the classes they have with you, yes, but what about the classes they don't? Almost all of those are with me. Only Emily has one class without any of us and I don't mind escorting her there as well."

"She's Eliot's girl, Riddle, he can do it himself," Mike pushed through his gritted teeth.

I interjected, remembering that Emily has Astronomy with another group of Gryffindors and that the rest of us would have either History of Magic then or Potions. "He'll be late to class if he does that."

"So?" Mike asked incredulously, unable to fathom, apparently, that I'd come to see Riddle's side clearer.

I sighed but Riddle spoke. "Professors are not bending their class hours for anyone but the Prefects and Head Boy and Girl. He'll earn himself detention after detention for being late and I don't think you want your best Chaser unable to play Saturday."

I winced at the look of utmost contempt Mike shot Riddle just then.

"Let him, Mike," Eliot spoke up, making us all turn to him, confused. He'd acted civil toward Riddle these past weeks but that didn't wipe clean the obvious reservations he'd shown toward him. He looked around at us all before landing his gaze on the still completely unfocused Emily who just stared at him, probably not even hearing anything we said. It felt wrong deciding all of this for her. But as the scene we comprised right there in the Great Hall obviously depicted, desperate times call for desperate measures. "He's in Slytherin. Whatever it is attacking Muggle-borns won't attack him and besides, she's a Pure-blood. It's best she not be with me where she could accidentally be…" He trailed off, his eyes still on Emily.

I grimaced and looked up at Riddle who had an odd glint in his eyes that I could have sworn mimicked that calamity that I'd seen in them when he'd come to see me in the Hospital Wing. But then it had gone, imagined again and his eyes cleared of emotion and went dark once more.

"Very well. It's settled, then? I'll take them with me to Defense Against the Dark Arts; Michael or I will escort Thalia to History of Magic and to Astronomy; I'll take Emily first to Astronomy and then Thalia with me to Potions; her free period is with me and Emily will be with you in Herbology during that period. The rest is all yours or will be decided pending whatever may come up." The system he'd come up with seemed a bit confusing, but I trusted that he knew what to do when it came to classes.

Mike didn't even look at Riddle but stared coldly at me when Eliot answered. "Perfect. Just…just watch her for me, yeah?"

My heart practically shattered into a million pieces when I saw his eyes. You could see the torture it put him through having to hand off Emily to some Slytherin, unable to take care of her himself. But determination mixed in with that torment and I knew there remained no other way for him.

"Of course," Riddle said quietly and nodded. Then he turned to me. "Are you going to eat or do I need to supervise that as well?"

That did it. Mike growled and practically stomped his way out of the Hall. Eliot had already moved quickly to sit down next to Emily and whisper in her ear while she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, as if soaking in every second she could with him. I sucked my teeth, staring after Mike's retreating form and then turned to leer at Riddle who snickered, still holding my hand. "You are _not_ nice, you know?"

He snorted slightly with laughter and shrugged with a look that clearly screamed 'so?' blatant on his face.

I gave him a cold look and pulled my hand from his to cross my arms over my chest.

He shook his head, still smiling but not laughing anymore. "It's so easy, Thalia. What do you want from me?"

I just shook my head and breathed a laugh. _Mike will be okay. It really was just a small crack and meant for me. He just took it to heart when he didn't need to…. Whatever…._ "Nothing. Go eat. I promise I'll be well fed and ready to slaughter you and your team on Saturday."

He chuckled and stalked off toward the other end of the Great Hall, walking backward and keeping his promise to not let me out of his sight.

* * *

><p>Riddle's system of transporting Emily and I worked like a charm and within the first week, he even had her talking coherently again. She still looked rather pale, but nowhere nearly as bad as that weekend.<p>

Mike didn't like having to say "see you later" at breakfast or lunch when we'd leave with Riddle and he sulked a lot that week. But after a few days, he just bit the bullet and went with it because he saw how scared people really had gotten. (Ours wasn't the only system of escort in Hogwarts.) Also, I suspect another chat with Eliot laid his anger to rest as well. Eliot, on the other hand seemed calmer from the beginning. Yes, he still came off a bit nervous but it seemed that he'd worried more about Emily and her protection because as soon as she started talking again he even started laughing again apart from having gained back his color.

Come the Slytherin-Gryffindor game on Saturday, all of us were raring and ready to go.

"Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck!" I said, as I bounced on the balls of my feet out in the frigid cold, waiting for rest of the team to come out and watching the stands fill up with Mike at my side. Okay, so maybe I felt a bit nervous as well. But it felt like the awesome kind of nervous. "Oh, I'm so gonna rip Malfoy a new one today."

Mike laughed and said, "That's my girl."

Awkwardly glancing over at him, smile still stretching my face on one side, I let that one slide because the rest of the team now filed out of the locker room.

Out on the field, Mike shook Riddle's hand – or did what barely qualified as a handshake – and we kicked off when the whistle blew.

"Slytherin in possession – no – Gryffindor – no – _Slytherin_ in possession of the Quaffle. And Riddle's off, Erickson and Parkinson on his tail. Riddle passes to Black– Black passes back to Riddle – Riddle shoots and – Slytherin, ten! Gryffindor, zero!"

Shaking my head, and rolling my eyes at my two teammates for not catching up, I turned my back on them to search for the Snitch. Malfoy had already gotten on it and apparently had seen something that turned out nothing because he just stood hovering like I did now.

"Parkinson passes to Erickson, Erickson to Blishwick, Blishwick carries to the Slytherin end – he shoots and – aww, too bad Blishwick." The Slytherin Beater's older brother, Avery – dude who hates my guts – had volunteered for commentating and right now stood on his platform, painting a rather vivid picture of the game, using colorful slurs that McGonagall would have never stood for in my time toward the Gryffindor team. "Better luck next time – if there is one. We're all wondering how Gryffindor's newest tweeker – I mean – _Seeker , _Thalia Espinoza, is going to fair. Can she even understand what I'm saying? Does she speak English?" The affronted roar from the Gryffindor stands mixed with the burst of boisterous cheers and laughter from the Slytherin stands created one monstrous deafening sound.

I just smirked at the comment and took off after a glint I spotted by our Keeper's foot. It turned out as not the Snitch but now, from this angle, I caught my eye on the tiniest most inconspicuous glimmer that zoomed across Mulciber's back before he swung his bat at the Bludger, aiming for Eliot. It barely missed his shoulder.

Eliot got on Riddle's tail again, Mike close below – the beginning stages of the Porskoff Ploy they'd gone over many times in practice. I smiled this time, happy they got the shit right, right before speeding off after the bloody winged ball that, by now, flapped nervously by the Ravenclaw stands. Again, this little ball had me zigzagging through the stadium, accidentally bumping Lestrange, who took that as incentive and chased me by the hoops until a well-aimed Bludger kicked him off my trail. Free to search the stadium, I listened in to the commentary while scanning.

"Thirty up, Gryffindor about to be slaughtered if their newest member doesn't step up soon. Probably doesn't even know what's going on, the poor girl."

I huffed, tired, pissed that I missed the making of three shots by my team and irritated that this little ball wouldn't show itself. Shit got a lot harder with twice as many people on the field and nearly all of them wearing watches. "Fuck," I hissed as Nott and Black trapped Mike on either side and Riddle came at him head on. Not wanting to see what might happen there, I turned away and lo and behold: the Snitch hovered right by young Avery's tail. For a few seconds I just stared, open-mouthed, at it, shocked but in the back of my mind wanting to make sure I didn't put myself in Avery's line of sight before I guaranteed it worthwhile. The Snitch didn't move for five seconds straight so I took off at it. I had my arm outstretched against the handle of my broom, with my body flattened upon it, trying not to get spotted and had gotten mere feet away from the winged bugger when I felt what probably wins the title for the most horrible, jolting and disgusting pain I'd ever felt in my life.

"And Avery takes the Spaniard out – uh-oh, there she goes! Someone might want to catch her," he said nonchalantly over the "oooo"s and hisses of sympathy or plain shock for my empathized pain felt by most of the crowd when the Bludger came barreling down on the small of my back and resounding internally with nasty crunch. The impact caused me to slip off of my broom.

I barely hung on, feeling the excruciating pain radiating from my lower back as I swung there by one hand from the handle of my broom, unable to even get my legs back up. It hurt too damn much to even breath what with all my weight putting pressure on the injury. I wanted to scream – to release the shriek built up in me, but couldn't even summon the air into my lungs to do so. Besides, what would that say to everyone? No, fuck that. _Fucking move! NOW!_ I ordered of myself forcefully and with all the pain that reverberated throughout my entire body by now, I sucked it the fuck up and heaved. Okay, so it took more than one try – give me a break, I'm not Super Girl and something had definitely broken – but I eventually got myself back onto the broom and not even fully. I had to clench the broom with my knees, keeping myself from actually sitting on it because I couldn't take that pain. I looked like a damn horse jockey during a race but I didn't really care. Only ending the fucking game so I could go do something about my back seemed important now.

Eyes swimming with unshed tears, teeth clenched with suppressed cries of pain, and knees unable to buckle under my entire weight supporting my whole frame on the broom, I flew once, ridiculously incensed, around the stadium. You could say that I might feel just a little pissed off but then you'd miss out on a lot of the obscenities I muttered under my breath. Riddle would have a field day with all _this_ rough language. I pushed past my own teammates who tried to congregate around me to help me. This had gotten personal: Avery would pay – and I don't care which of the two brothers did. Eyes scanning the stadium, arms trembling violently and abdomen tightened as much as possible to not breathe too much or let too much weight fall on the injury, I caught sight of the Snitch. "Come here, you little shit," I hissed through gritted teeth, wasting air that I needed.

Faster than I thought possible – or perhaps just faster than the pain let my brain process – I flew through the steely razorblades of wind and caught up with the golden ball right at Black's shoulder. "Move!" I shouted at him, swerving to not crash into him. I didn't hear his response to that for I'd done a one-eighty sloppily. The jolt of the inertia and momentum combining with gravity and muscle reaction radiated agonizingly through my body just as I enclosed my fingers around the ball. Malfoy, who'd apparently flown in right behind me without my noticing, cursed loudly as Avery announced my catch and the Gryffindor win solemnly but got drowned out. Cheers and foot stomping and howls of joy drowned everything out and if there remained any bits of coherent speech left, the darkness that enclosed upon me drowned that out too. I let myself go, let my knees slip down past the handle and landed agonizingly on my ass right on the handle and then I landed on the ground, I think, carried or I don't know. Then in the infirmary the pain felt like fiery splinters in my lower back and, yet, I still wouldn't allow myself to scream.

Riddle stood there, I think, with Black and Lestrange. Maybe Malfoy for a second? No, I don't think so. Who cares? By the time I could even faintly say exactly what happened, I felt kind of numb and a bit drunk.

"Whozzere?" I asked groggily from my bed, trying to shift, but my quidditch robes caught on something. The light singed my corneas and I had to squint for a bit before I could open my eyes fully, but when I did, I saw what my robes had caught on. "Tom…. Hi…."

"Hi," he said, smiling weakly. He sat there, still in his robes as well. I guess not that much time had passed since we played, despite the darkness I could feel more than see through the windows.

I returned the smile just as feebly or even more so. "What's up? What was the final score?" I really don't know what the fuck possessed me to ask about the _game_ of all things. But at least it brought a stronger smile to his face and that in turn did the same for me. Grinning, I cocked an eyebrow questioningly. "Well?"

"One-eighty to thirty." He smirked. "You were wonderful, Thalia. You missed your own team's victory dance for you."

I scoffed and tried to sit up. Meh, not so bad yet, but I knew I'd definitely feel that tomorrow. "Ugh," I uttered, now sitting and adjusting myself.

"Is it still very painful?" he asked, his brows set worriedly and his eyes holding a softened look to them.

Unable to drown him in guilt like I'd planned to right before I'd blacked out (it was his teammate who did this to me), I just gave him a soft smile and shook my head. "I'm okay."

He glared. "Liar. I almost had to make you a bite-guard." His voice came out stern and the consternation shone clear on his face, but when I gave him an innocently surprised look, he shook his head and stood. "Sorry," he said when he'd walked to the foot of my bed and turned to the window directly opposite. "Avery knows better than to aim for injury – " he began, but I cut across him, pissed off he'd even try this.

"Shut up, Riddle. I don't see you apologizing to Eliot or anyone else Avery aimed at for that matter. All of his shots were meant to injure – that's the fucking point of quidditch!"

"Would you like me to apologize to –"

I growled an unearthly sound and pounded the mattress with my fists. "NO! Oh my God," I said, kicking aside the comforter that someonehad laid across my legs and hopping off the bed. I swayed a bit on the spot, feeling an odd sort of pressure on my hips and lower back, and Riddle's face went from perplexed to stone as he stepped quickly and lithely over to hold me up by my waist. Gently and as soft as the pillow I'd rested on, he made to lift me off my feet, but I grabbed his hand, forcing myself to not use him as support. "Listen to me, Tom."

He stood straight, and gave me a stern glare. "You need to rest."

"Riddle, I'm fine." I pushed myself away from him to prove I could stand without him. "You wouldn't even baby your own teammates as much as you're trying to baby me," I said softly and glared back at him.

He sighed resignedly. "What do you want from me, Thalia?" He came to my side and leaned against the bed like I did. "Fine, I'll admit it. I'm not as comfortable as everyone else seems to be with you playing quidditch and maybe part of it is because you're female." He crossed his arms over his chest and held up a finger to keep me from interrupting. "I was raised in the Muggle world where females and sports still don't mix. I'm sorry I still can't come to terms fully with that, but I'm getting there. What _really_ makes me 'baby' you, as you say, is this" he gestured to my hunched over form on the side of the bed "right here. Did you even realize your pelvis had broken?"

I shook my head without a word and looked down. "Sorry. I didn't know you worried so much."

Another sigh, less frustrated, and he straightened up. I followed suit.

"Thalia…" he began but shook his head, a sort of pained look on his face.

I gave him a saddened look. I really felt the guilt hit me then. He only tried to protect me, in a way. He probably didn't give a flying fuck about Eliot but look at him. Had he even eaten? He hadn't changed out of his robes. Not even Emily, Eliot and Mike sat here with him. Had he asked to stay past visiting hours? He'd known my pelvis had broken – had he asked or checked himself? A new sort of light shed on him for me and the pained look on his face ripped at my chest. "I know." I sighed. "I know, I'm an ass. Sorry."

He scoffed and shook his head. "You most definitely are not. Stop that."

I smirked and slid back onto the bed, letting my legs swing. "Promise you'll leave Avery for me."

He shook his head and smirked. "I already took care of that, sorry."

I pouted.

"You played great, Espinoza. You may change my views just yet," he said, walking around the bed.

I followed him with my eyes. "I will, don't worry." He continued walking to the door and I called, "Take me with you."

"Nope."

* * *

><p><em>You definitely love him….I <em>do not_ love him…. Whatever helps you sleep at night_. That flow of thought continued after Madame Marche let me go Sunday morning. The break in my pelvis felt like more of a shattering of a piece of it, but she mended and regrew bits of it and I felt as good as new. Physically, anyway. Mentally, the bitch (yeah, she's back to being a bitch for me) fought the rest of my mind. The reality stood that, no – _fuck no_, I hadn't fallen in love with Riddle. But was this more than a crush now? Is the king of hearts the only king without a mustache? Is 'stressed' just 'desserts' but backwards?

In the next weeks, my mind tortured itself over this new development. While Emily got more and more comfortable around Riddle (kisses on her hand as well and gentle squeezes of his hand that made Eliot reconsider his request for Riddle to 'watch' her), I just didn't know where to run. I felt the urgent need to get away from the clenching of my stomach when he'd pick up my schoolbag without my asking and the happily splashing thing in my chest spazzing out when he would offer me his arm and then after a while would just take my hand in his wordlessly – automatically. Yet, at the same time, I felt a sort of blankness on either side of me where he should have stood when he'd hand me off to Eliot or Mike and I started getting backaches every time I would actually carry my own bag. Physically only that bothered me because outwardly I would joke around still and act as Thalia-ish as I always had. Hufflepuff's loss to Ravenclaw at the end of November gave Riddle and I a load of material for our breaks and yet we barely touched it. Those moments alone had turned into a weird sort of paradox effect in and of themselves.

We'd fall into our normal routine of homework, studying, random topics of conversation, and smartass-ness. But then underneath that dwelled the layer-that-must-not-be-named. Softer, warmer smiles, shining eyes glimmering with the seemingly softer light around us, gentle brushes, whether accidental or other, that made my skin erupt with heat and goose bumps. New and incredibly scary rushes of blood to the head when his thumb would caress the back of my hand in an almost subconscious way happened commonly now. But the scary moments got countered and balanced so very well by the moments of pure calm and peace in the back of the library when he'd relax even more and actually set aside his school things to lay his head on his arms, just watching me work or close his eyes and continue whatever conversation we'd have half-asleep. The bitch mentally kicked my ass every time I thought this, but he looked so damn adorable when he did that. I couldn't help but quiet down after a bit and cast a muffling spell on the turn that opened up to our little hideaway to just let him sleep a bit. Sometimes, when I didn't feel as tuned into my own mind as I did to the aura he cast in those silent moments, I'd join him in Morpheus' arms.

Eliot and Mike got more and more vicious toward Riddle. Well, mostly Mike. Eliot, I guess, felt like he owed him something. They just…ugh…. They'd tear Riddle a new one behind his back, throw me glares when I'd get up and leave when those sessions started up, and remind me to smack him upside the head when I saw him. Mike just still ached a bit from the get but I guess I understood Eliot's resentment: Emily wouldn't shut the hell up about Riddle come December; she'd constantly talk about how safe she felt with him because "he's so skilled and intelligent" and blah, blah, blah. She'd even gotten on my nerves and not just because she seemed to revert back to the whole 'just let the men handle the hard work' shit. She also, come the first dusting of snow, had gotten a bit too dependent on Riddle, leaving Eliot to one side.

December brought calm back to the school: not one attack had occurred and no creepy messages had appeared in blood on the walls. People actually started talking about going home for Christmas and what they expected to get. Emily didn't protest when the curfew went back to normal and the escort system got deemed unnecessary, but she did seem a bit crestfallen when Eliot told her she wouldn't see quite as much of Riddle as before. That kind of ticked me off too but I just brushed the annoyance off as stupid. She'd just become good friends with Riddle as well and would miss him, right? But that still didn't make up for her odd treatment of Eliot. She didn't make it something common, but a few times I did catch a remark made by her about his essays that I didn't like because they held a Riddle-like tone to them. She'd turned a bit condescending toward him.

But maybe I'd just felt jealous? I really don't know. I only knew that I too needed to get as far away from Riddle as possible for me to figure that out because while I with him, I fell too subjective to my own mindset. I knew what seemed like jealousy and would, therefore, justify my thinking based on non-jealousy related things or just change it. I needed to have at least a few objective seconds for me to understand myself. Going back to my first day of school in 1942: what the fuck _is_ 'love' anyway? I've never even kissed anyone let alone had a boyfriend-thing-a-ma-bob. I truly never wanted one because of all the shit I'd see, not only on TV but also in real life. If I ever turned into one of those girls that freaked out all jealous because her boyfriend-person-guy-thing-parasite _spoke_ to another female I'd ask someone to Avada Kedavra my ass. God. I'd off myself if it came to that. But where the hell did I think this headed if not there with my annoyance with Emily for picking up some of Riddle's mannerisms? Did there even _exist _a choice past this point?

_Maybe you just don't want her to hurt Eliot? He _is_ your friend and you don't want to see him get hurt…. That sounds like a justification, though…. Can't it be a justification _and_ a valid reason? It's not a smart idea for you to be even feeling this shit about Riddle, but what the hell else can you do? _

Definitely true. Dumbledore had come around Gryffindor Tower a bit into December and took the names down of those of us who'd planned to stay in the school over the break. Emily, Eliot and Mike, of course, planned to head home for the holidays – a tradition within each of their own families. Nothing wrong with that at all…until they started hesitating to mention Christmas around me. It made things so much worse. I never even stressed the whole Christmas alone in the school thing because I knew other kids would stay, including Riddle, and I actually now had some validation as his friend to ask him about his lineage and looked forward to that time alone with him. But then these three. _God_. I mean, I understand that they don't want to hurt my feelings, but jeez. To just halt all conversation because I entered the room? That just seemed fucked up. Why? Because it reminded me more than anything else that I didn't have a fucking family to go home to. I didn't have a _home_. It reminded me that instead of empanadas and roast pork and papas a la diabla with Jorge and Dad and the Espinoza cousins, aunts and uncles, I'd be pulling crackers and getting sprayed with confetti by pitying professors with other kids who felt just as uncomfortable as I tried not to. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ungrateful or a pessimist. I'd just rather you speak honestly with me and tell me about what you think you'll get for Christmas so I can feel happy for you instead of throwing it in my face that you think I'll just envy you by hushing it all up.

Anyway, they behaved that way. Riddle…came nowhere near such childishness.

"I'll show you around the school a bit more in depth. There's so much you probably haven't even gotten to see yet." His exact words when we came across Christmas as a conversation topic. No pity in his eyes. No sadness or awkwardness. Just an adventurous glint and a smirk splayed across his face. Three guesses who I'd preferred hanging around in the fortnight leading up to Slughorn's next dinner party.

"Oh, I got an invitation to that too – something about amazing Captaining. Wanna come with me – as friends?"

I'd just got handed a tiny scroll of parchment bound in emerald ribbon and immediately knew what it meant. I sighed and nodded. "Okay," I answered Mike. I hadn't thought clearly then and later in the library when Riddle asked if I'd received an invite I felt the full force of what I'd done.

"Shit…. Yeah, I did. And I said I'd go with Mike – ugh!" I growled and covered my face with my hands before raking them through my hair, beyond frustrated.

He smirked and shook his head, turning his attention back to his DADA essay. "Think before you act."

"That's no fun," I countered, leaning my chair back on two legs.

He cocked an eyebrow, eyes still on his parchment and said, "Neither is that situation."

Sighing, I mentally agreed.

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><p>"You look beautiful," Mike said when I'd descended the stairs from the girls' dormitories.<p>

I wore the same emerald dress that Riddle bought me, just transfigured so that it now fit my form a bit better, had no sleeves and had a less flared and more flowing skirt. I'd also opted for a lower heeled shoe that Emily lent me. I smiled at him and thanked him before taking the arm he offered and going down to Slughorn's office.

I wanted to scream the moment I walked in. The place already as cold as a frozen Hell, the first people I see – drumroll, please – Selwyn hanging off of Riddle's arm. I gave my most winning smile to him as I passed while Mike totally ignored him. I clenched the fist that itched to reach for my wand and wipe that stupid, haughty, pretentious, overdone smirk off of her pointy face. _No messes tonight,_ I told myself, not that I really cared anymore what Slughorn thought. I just didn't want to cause grief for Riddle. He'd done a really nice job of acting like he didn't hear what Eliot and Mike would say, but I knew he did. He wasn't deaf.

The party didn't go as bad as the first few minutes indicated it would. Mike got dragged away by Slughorn in ten minutes' time to go meet some up and coming team manager that Slughorn knew and had invited and he left him there to make chitchat. Then, Selwyn, who I'd eyed from my peripheral because I could feel her stupid smile on the back on my neck (maybe because my up-do left my neck exposed), Slughorn took to meet some famous witches who modeled on some magazine or whatever. Lastly, Slughorn came for me and then we went for Riddle so that we may meet some aurors.

"A very powerful young witch, Chief," Slughorn started saying before I even registered the hard line that Riddle's mouth had formed. I found it odd but as he smiled at the man and shook his hand just fine, I thought nothing of it. "She'd make a wonderful auror, actually," Slughorn continued.

Now, I paid attention. _What is this man doing? An auror? Is he _trying_ to get me killed?_ _Spaz_. I just smiled and went along with the conversation as normally as I could (it's not like the Head of the Auror Office gave a shit about who I was and would offer me a job right there). Then, eventually, they got onto the topic of Riddle and leadership and I stood free to space out and just smile while looking around, trying to appear entertained. I did feel entertained, though. Selwyn stood with Greengrass and they both leered at me from across the room before getting swept back into conference with the famous witches. Mike looked around the room every once in a while and spotted me with Riddle, but still talked with the team manager. For the first time in a few weeks I felt like nothing could go wrong and I felt just fine ending the party on good terms with both sides of the trench I'd dug for myself.

After we ate and mingled some more with other important people, Mike came to get me from Riddle's side.

"It's getting late, Thali. Are you ready to go?"

I'd stood to one side, laughing with Riddle about his choice of date (he'd informed that Selwyn was 'just there and practically jumping him') and feeling pretty good. So, I sighed and nodded, ignoring the glint that passed through Mike's eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said to Riddle, automatically offering my hand for him to kiss.

He took it and said, "Actually, I think I'll go as well. It is late and tomorrow is a practice day from early morning to late afternoon." He kept smirking still from the last comment he'd made about his date and began walking with me, leaving Mike there.

Yes, I will admit that it was fucked up of me to just go with Riddle like that and I'll never live that shit down because Mike is supposed to be one of my best friends. But what happened next, I could never forgive not even on my most I-Hate-Riddle day.

Out in the corridor with Mike somewhere behind us and Selwyn on his tail, Riddle turned to me and raised my hand to his lips. "I'll leave you to your date," he murmured and stood to the side, waiting for Selwyn.

Mike, a furious shade of scarlet, came barreling out the door and held it open for Selwyn. "Fucking prick," he hissed, snatching my hand up and yanking me away toward the stairs.

"Ow! Mike, what the – let _go_!" I ordered, pulling back my hand that had just cracked in several places from the force he'd pulled it with. "Have you lost your mind?"

"When did you get so delicate?" he spat, turning back to me on the spot. "This son of a bitch carries your books for a few weeks and all of a sudden you're a princess?"

"Parkinson," Riddle barked, ignoring Selwyn's furious glare, and walking quickly to us. "There's no need for profanity much less for you to manhandle Miss Espinoza," he said, glaring fixedly at Mike.

Mike scoffed and laughed coldly. "Of course. _Riddle_ to the rescue." He sneered at me disgustedly. "Thalia, you were strong and I respected that. I don't know _what_ you're becoming though and that shit is unrespectable. Get your ass back into gear –"

"Enough!" Riddle said loudly over him and pointed to the stairs just around the corner. "That's a detention. Get to your common room."

Again, Mike scoffed and shot him a scathing glare before shaking his head. "Stupid son of a bitch," he muttered.

But Riddle had already started checking my hand and muttering as well. "Badly raised…no sense of class at all." And then all Hell broke loose.

"At least I have parents to raise me unlike _some_." Mike still had his back turned and kept on walking away from us when he landed his final blow. "And even if I were an orphan, I wouldn't have spent fifteen years there – _someone_ would have wanted me."

My blood turned to ice in my veins and I couldn't even look back at Riddle, who still held my hand. I don't know how long we stayed like that: him, holding my hand and me, frozen with shock. I only knew that, when I could finally think enough to move and turn to see if Riddle felt okay, Mike had gone as had Selwyn. "Tom…"

He let my hand fall and my wrist cracked again. The tight line had returned but just for a second and then his lips pulled back into a sneering smirk. "What's the matter, Thalia? Didn't think it would get to this point?"

A confused frown creased my forehead and I blinked. "What?"

He scoffed and barked a cold, high pitched laugh that caused ice-expenditure cracks to form in my veins. "Or maybe you did and just didn't care. That seems the more logical answer after weeks and weeks of silence in the face of similar comments, no?"

That confused me, then. What did he mean? I had no idea what the hell he meant. I only wanted to know if feelings got hurt. I had no sarcastic inner monologue and no resistance to the tender affection I wanted to show him. So, it stung really badly when he lashed out again:

"But what else could I expect of you? They are in your House. He is your biggest concern – you'd never want to hurt _him_." The disgusted emphasis on the last word cut through me like a hot knife through butter and everything clicked. But, no, he'd never said…he'd never even….

_Oh, God…._ "Tom, no…. No…no, I…I…." What did I even want to try to tell him? 'I'm sorry' didn't even seem to cover this shit. I mean, think about it. Lord fucking Voldemort stood right in front of me, a teenage boy, as vulnerable to verbal shanking as me and _displayed_ the most recent wound. "Oh my God," I gasped through a half-sob that came out like a gag.

He laughed once more and turned.

Watching his retreating form, I said the only thing I could think to say. "I thought you could handle him, I swear!" It probably took the title for the stupidest thing to ever come out of my mouth in English or Spanish.

He stopped walking and turned on the spot. He wore no sneer, no smirk, no glare, no nothing. He just gave me a stale look as he asked, "Since when is standing up for your friend too much of a feat for you?" His eyes didn't hold coldness like I'd expected. They just…looked blank, but…sad? I couldn't comprehend it and yet I kicked myself for not seeing this coming. "Have you really become a part of the norm, Thalia, have you really become so fragile and selfish?"

You could practically hear the crunching sound that the shards of my heart made with each breath I took and it only got louder when I started stepping toward him. I didn't even realize I had started walking until he didn't stand as far as before and, by the time I told myself to stop walking, I stood just two inches from him. Staring up into his expressionless face, I felt mine twist with anxiety and sadness. "I'm so sorry, Tom. I…I didn't know…"

He scoffed and made to turn but I caught his lapels faster than I'd meant to.

"Don't," I forced out before he turned his face downward and I broke even more. Instinctively I released his lapels and pushed my arms past his and around his torso. I squeezed us together in the tightest hug I could possibly give, putting all of what I didn't know how to say in it and listening to the _lubdub-lubdub_ in his chest for a response. The night had grown even colder and I'd worn this dress and stood there freezing my ass off again and now none of it mattered. Me hugging him, his warmth spreading to me, the beat of his heart, the sound of his breathing and then – the most lethal and wonderfully dangerous part – his arms wrapping themselves securely around me, holding me to his chest. Only this mattered now. "I'm so sorry," I whispered into his suit jacket, falling deeper into the warmth.

He squeezed me gently yet very firmly and brought his hand to the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking that really weak spot there. I shivered and pressed deeper into his embrace. After a moment this way, I could breathe properly again. I could finally lift my head and look him in the eyes. But that, as I learned, turned out even more dangerous than his arms wrapping around me. Green into black, my eyes stared into his, unable to tear away. Then, fully registering my every move and every centimeter of my body accounted for and highly aware of what I planned to do, I pushed onto my tippy-toes, raised my hand to cup his face and brought my lips to his cheek. Just a small kiss, much like the ones he gives my hands, this one. Nothing extreme and no more than a small token of affection between friends. At least I meant for it to come out that way.

Slipping back down onto the soles of my feet and letting my hand slide from his face, down his neck and his chest, I could only think, _what the hell did I just do?_

As if in answer to my dumb ass question, the warm and soothing softness of his lips came down on my forehead. "I know," he whispered and then said something else, but I didn't quite catch it.

That dense fog that I hadn't seen since October came rushing onto me in an enormous wave that billowed like liquid smoke and enveloped me so that I couldn't see a thing.

_The fog cleared away and I walked with Riddle, holding hands, down the corridor that led to Defense Against the Dark Arts during the day with people staring and pointing. Some of them smiled warmly and others glared. All, I felt very aware and very satisfied to know, wanted to get a peek at the ring he'd put on my finger just a few weeks prior. This I knew already from the rumors flying around of my supposed pregnancy. It held no truth – we didn't expect any babies._

_But the ring, yes. He'd given me an odd little ring over the summer on _that_ day. With the Peverell family crest engraved in the stone and albeit very clumsily made, I happily took every precaution to look after it. Although not a very beautiful ring, its value went far beyond just historical and heirloom status. With this ring, the promise ring Tom – _my _Tom – promised his love, his life and everything to me. After everything we've gone through…after everything we've seen together…this ring symbolized the most precious thing in both of our lives – in our life as one: our love. _

_This last year at Hogwarts would commemorate many things and solidify many others, but the one constant that had sealed since I came here three years ago, that has never failed me, is the love I feel for the man at my side. I know his love will not fail us either…._

_Turning to look up at him, entertained by all the attention and envy aimed at us, I tugged gently at his hand. _

_He looked down at me and smiled warmly, that familiar glint in his eyes that sort of shouted out to _us. _It would sometimes shine pure white and sometimes it would flash red for a split second, but it would always shine for us…._

_Suddenly, the wave of billowing plasmatic fog came over me and I couldn't see again._

However, just a few seconds of blindness had plagued me. The clearing away of the fog – the opening of my eyes – allowed for me to see that I still stood in Riddle's arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his forehead creased with concern, that glint shining there. It definitely did – I know I can't have imagined that because I'd just seen it. His arms supported me along my back, his hands cradling either my head or my waist. I can't have gotten anywhere near the ground but the way he held me so tight you'd have thought I could shatter at any second.

A bit groggily and confused as to why I didn't spaz out like the last time a memory had come to me, I nodded. "I-I'm fine…. What happened?" I asked aloud stupidly as if he would know the answer as to why this time around, I didn't almost fucking die in memory delivery.

"You fainted, I think. Maybe you just had a dizzy spell? You just slipped and when I caught you, you woke."

I looked at him confusedly. _Is his voice shaking? Nah, can't be_. _He _did_ say that even last time, when he didn't know me as well as he does now, he'd been worried. Of course, his voice is cracking for me…._

He straightened us up, shaking his head and pressed his forehead to mine, his hands not moving from my waist and behind my head. "You scared the living daylights out of me," he whispered and planted another soft kiss on my forehead before holding me tight to him.

I wanted to cry. A hole had formed in my chest from the moment I woke and realized I'd received a memory. It burned like you wouldn't believe – melted my heart from within to make me realize, by the doubling of the liquid tenderness in my chest, that the happily splashing thing that had played in the pool of tenderness had formed from none other than my heart. I wanted to bury my face in his chest and sob away the pain, the shame, the sadness, the fear, the panic, the longing…. I _needed_ to tell him before I exploded, but that nulled and paled drastically in comparison with the rest of what I felt just then. So, biting my lip and blinking back the moisture, I just went along with him.

He said something about not wanting to stick me in the infirmary because I may have just gotten dizzy and that he'd stay with me. Then we walked and talked – well, mostly I just nodded and scoffed or laughed at what he said – until we reached the seventh floor and a long stretch of wall across from a picture of ballerina trolls. Three times he walked back and forth before taking my hand and walking me through the door that had appeared there. Apparently that blank wall had an odd common room in it. It had red and emerald upholstery with gold and silver clocks and candle holders. I didn't really see it, though. I still bit back the most shameful secret that had come to light to my own eyes tonight in less than ten minutes. I couldn't believe it; yet, I knew that the reason I felt so ashamed was because I'd known for a while now….

"Just relax, Thalia," I heard him say as he sat down next to me on one of the sofas and bent down to remove my shoes and bring my feet to rest on his lap. My chest ached. He'd meant it as nothing more than a friendly gesture, I knew it, and it killed me. "What is it?" he asked concernedly, eyeing me for a moment.

I smiled at him and took his hand in mine, letting my head fall onto the back of the sofa. "Thank you…." _Thank you for seeing past whatever madness surrounded my lies – for not seeing my lies…for the memories you don't know about…for caring for me…for not breaking the illusion yet…because I know it must break at some point._ I suddenly felt very aware of the cold metal touching my chest. The Time Turner….

He squeezed my hand and smiled that glinted smile…the most tragically beautiful smile I'd ever seen in my life. That smile answered my question from earlier, explained my jealousy and exposed the shame buried beneath all that warm and sticky tenderness: I wanted nothing more than to go back in my memory, to his side, his ring on my finger, his love and life promised to me. I'd fallen more deeply in love with Tom Riddle than I ever even thought possible for anyone let alone me. I loved him already and it wasn't just a side effect or influence of the memories. I can proudly say and I hope most of you know by now that, no, I am not that easily influenced. This had been three and a half months…no…six motherfucking circuits in the making. _God….Nothing else to say? …Not really. What the fuck _would_ I say? I _am_, in the end, still just another part of you…. You love him, too…. Unfortunately…and just as much…. My God…. Yeah…._


	11. The Way It Happened

**A/N:** IceWolf90, you're awesome. I'm so happy you survived that last chapter just to have to read this long mess =D. Im glad you're enjoying this and well, hopefully you keep on enjoying it. For those of you who fav'd and alerted yourselves, thanks so much for that and sorry it took me so long to update. It's these finals, dude! I swear, I almost jumped off the bridge a few times with so much shit on my mind. But the story must go on! This chapter is extremely long and well,...it explains a lot and brings up some new questions. Hopefully you guys like it and you know what to do ;). Besos y abrazos!

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Ten: _The Way It Happened_**

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><p><em>"Lose not yourself in a far off time, seize the moment that is thine." – Friedrich Schiller<em>

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><p><em>That was pretty fast, though…. What do you want? You never pay attention to me, anyway. Maybe you're not in love with him. Who knows? Maybe that gooey, lovey, dovey feeling in your chest is just undigested gummy worms.… I just can't believe I'm so certain of it…. Haven't you ever heard of people saying that when you fall in love, you'd know it? Just accept it… I have…. So, what's the problem? …That I've accepted it.<em>

All night we stayed there in that weird common room. Where it had come from, I had no idea nor did I care. The terrifying thought that I may have just sentenced millions to death kept lurking around in the muddled, messy confines of my mind like some sadistic snake, striking when I would stray from that thought even a tiny bit. My one job here was to change Riddle. By no means could one call this task 'easy', but I figured I'd gotten well on my way seeing as he'd started acting mostly human now instead of so perfect and rigid like that first day. At least with me he had. He still had to hold up that Prefect image for the rest of the world, but that's normal, right? I mean, as an authority figure, if he doesn't uphold that image, they'd never respect him. Anyway, it counted for a lot that, alone with me, he'd let that façade slip away from him and actually crack a genuine freaking smile. But now what had I done? I'd gotten nowhere near finishing the process of changing him and I went and fell for him.

_Like you didn't see that shit coming. I _told_ you to be careful…._ I really had nothing to say in objection. The realist had known what was coming and tried to keep me from falling too deep and I didn't listen. I carelessly handled those moments alone with him, the hand-holding, and the stupid crush…_especially_ that shit. I let it grow into this, and yes, I _did_ see it coming. And I did nothing to stop it because I'd caught myself up in trying to formulate a plan to change Riddle through seduction. Yeah, epic…well, you know…. Riddle…well, mostly remained Riddle, just a bit off. But that didn't seem like enough when I thought about it logically. And yet….

Shifting my gaze to him there with his eyes closed, slipping into a calm sleep, I wished with all my heart that it would suffice because I knew that, never – no matter how much I cared for him and how easily I could peek at the kid behind his mask – would I ever buy into it fully. I knew too much of the coming years. Still, he seemed so…_young_. How could it not suffice? How much evil could exist in him at _fifteen years old_ that this change wouldn't make a difference later on? Dumbledore did say that his path to becoming Voldemort already existed; fine, but he also said that if I acted fast I'd be able to deter him. Looking at him (hurt feelings, returning affectionate hugs and kisses – just above all the other smaller things) couldn't I assume that I had deterred him? Hadn't I _already_ assumed as much with this whole 'love' shit?

Ugh. Then the memory itself went no further than an anomaly. It felt incomplete. Like more of an afterthought or a precursor, really, to the memories I'd had before. Why hadn't it just come with those? Or did this function like some type of download on that dial-up shit Dad had hooked up to the computer back home? This memory retrieval shit confused the fuck out of me I really didn't feel like thinking on it too much. It's not like any new information had presented itself in there, anyway. Riddle had promised his life and love to me with some ring. Big deal. I could have figured that out from the last memory, so what the hell was with this one? Weren't my memories supposed to be telling me how to go about changing him? So far it just seems like I fell into the same method of changing him as I had in the last circuit: making him fall for me. What the fuck difference could I make now? In the last circuit, I'd fallen prey to him emotionally as well and this had to be where I'd gone wrong! How the hell could I effectively make a difference if I didn't put all my heart into changing him _completely_ because it was too busy keeping time to the tine of his deep voice?`

I'd fucked up. Royally. Now _and_ then.

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><p>He walked me back to Gryffindor Tower at about five in the morning under cover of a Disillusionment Charm and this time, instead of a kiss on the hand, he bent slightly and kissed my cheek. I guess I'd expected my face to burst into flame or at least for a small blush to come. But no, nothing came. It actually felt as normal as the kisses on my hand had felt after a few times. Incredibly, this old-fashioned mien felt natural to me now. Mike and Riddle had called me out right on my bullshit: I had fallen into part of the norm.<p>

"Good night, Espinoza."

"G'night, Riddle."

"Be it not morning? I say, the sunlight beyond that window very much indicates it is. Has Sir Riddle been up to his usual naughty –"

"Sir Cadogan, please. Not tonight," I heard Riddle say in a most tired voice as I turned and whispered the password to the Fat lady. Smirking, I made my way, very quietly, up to the dormitory, changed into my pajamas (I needed sleep desperately) and sat on the bed, facing the window.

Pink and orange, smeared with long, wide and short, wispy stretches of sunlight, the sky outside radiated an exquisite yet simple beauty. Swirls of lavender and periwinkle colored clouds danced across it in a lovely ballet, the wind pushing them across their stage. Just as I began to shift and lay down, a ghastly surge of adrenaline designated this serene sight as my last before it pulled me into the familiar dense darkness that swallowed me whole in a matter of heartbeats….

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><p><em>Dusk at this place never seemed peaceful and nowhere near as beautiful as even in the skid rows of London. The institutional feel of the building – wrought iron gates that stretched skyward ending in lethal looking points, barred windows, the bare courtyard, and the overall dreariness – didn't allow for much inspiration. But we tried to make the best of the couple of months we had to spend here. <em>

_"Can we talk?" _

_I swiveled my head around at the sound of Tom's voice and watched as he entered the room, weaving his way around the many cribs to where I stood at the window with the most recent addition to the orphanage having lunch in my arms. A glance at the tiny bundle of blankets told me he'd finished his bottle and that his full tummy weighed heavy, lulling him to sleep. I nodded and smiled at Tom. "Just a few minutes. He's almost asleep."_

_He nodded and half-smiled, taking the empty bottle and setting it to one side in this little one's crib; and then he just watched me as I swung my arms lightly side to side and hummed softly, that look he'd adopted just this summer settling in his eyes again. After a few minutes of listening to my humming and then checking to make sure the baby had succumbed to my lullaby, he took him from my arms and laid him in his crib, that half-smile still splayed across his face. "One good thing will have come from having to spend your summers here," he said, crossing his arms and leaning on them against the crib's railing._

_Smiling, I nodded and adjusted the sheet needlessly around the baby. Then I remembered that what he'd just referred to could never happen: it was illegal…. So, forcing another smile, I turned to him and asked, "What did you want to talk about?"_

_His smile turned into a sort of tight-lipped grimace and he pushed off of the crib to stride over to the window. "I'm going to go about this in a different way than I'd originally planned to." Speaking clearly and definitively with his hands clasped together behind his back in a businesslike stance and all, Riddle meant for this statement to confuse me as much as it did. _

_I cocked an eyebrow in question and joined him at the window, looping my right arm around his back through the spaces his bent elbows made at his sides. "Go about what?"_

_"Letting you know that I've uncovered your little secret," he said impassively…in that tone._

_One could consider it absurd of me to have ever thought that I had my instincts and reflexes under control. But 'absurd' to this day remains an understatement, especially now in the presence of that tone. The one he only used with his Knights – his future Death Eaters – drained of any and all emotion save for sadism. I didn't even truly know whether to consider that an emotion or more of a purpose. Automatically, I pulled away from him and, cursing my own reflexes, brought my hand to clamp down on the tiny hourglass through the fabric of the summer dress I wore. I froze. No point remained in pretending to not know what he meant to get at. Of course I knew. It had subsisted as my one biggest fear for God knows how long now. How many circuits? And now it had come true._

_His gaze landed on me and I took another step back, the back of my legs and arms grazing the cold iron of another crib._

Oh God,_ I thought,_ the babies._ "Tom," I said in as sharp a voice as I could, my eyes darting around the room. The babies in here all still rested in Morpheus' arms. If I could just get him to follow me out of the room…away from this place…these kids…._

_"You know, it offends me that you think so little of my love, Thalia," he said musingly. _

_My eyes snapped back to his and I saw that his impassivity had given way to anger and that red glint. But by the time the next words had left his mouth, they'd gone. _

_"But I don't blame you for thinking that way, love, I really don't." He walked toward me and unclasped his hands to pull his wand out of his pocket. Admiring it as he rolled it between his fingers, he continued in a softer tone, "I know how what I think is ideal disgusts you." He met my stare, letting the hand that held the wand fall to his side. "But I also know that you love me and that it makes you overlook all of that."_

_My lip quivered, so I bit down on it (I don't want to prove him right about my disgust) and nodded._

_He gave a weary smile as his only response before stepping back to the window. "How many circuits have you completed?" The question, as normal as any I'd been asked, held only one twist: that he asked me and not Dumbledore._

_I shook my head, sucking in a short yet very sharp breath. "I wanted to tell you," I breathed. That bit remained nothing more than the truth. As afraid as I'd lived of him finding out about my situation, I also wanted nothing more by this point. By this sixth circuit, I just felt so tired of going in circles. "I wanted you to know, but…"_

_He eyed me from the corner of his eye and then smiled. "It's illegal."_

_I nodded. Of course he would have done his research. He expected me to just fill in the blanks. "This is the sixth circuit in the same loop…."_

_"It starts when?"_

_"September 3rd, 1942… all the way to August 1st, 1997." He gave me an amusedly confused look and I tried to explain. "I forged a link to span nearly forty years and I made sure to seal it at the point right before I get conceived."_

_"Ah," he said and nodded, understanding. "Rebirth…. Nice escape." _

_"Tom, I –" I tried to reiterate that I wanted him to know._

_"Shhh." He strode quickly over to me and brought his free hand to my mouth, placing a finger over my lips. "I know…. Just explain something to me, okay?"_

_I nodded, and took his hand in mine, trying to show that I had not betrayed him, that I still loved him. "Anything…."_

_He chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking, and then let it go. "What made you come here? I mean to this specific period?" His mouth twisted uncertainly. "Was that what made you choose the life of a Traveler?"_

_My veins probably had freeze damage and lacerations by now due to the times my blood has frozen in them. Staying alive and well all these years had to consist of some type of medical miracle. But I had to ignore the refreezing and answer him now. As closely as I could, anyway. Without breaking the laws…too much. "Where and _when_ I come from, there's a war going on. People I care about are dying for stupidity that's rooted in outdated ideals," I said, dancing around mentioning the obvious source of these ideals. "I came here to change that."_

_He didn't say anything, just stared at me quizzically for a few seconds before asking, "Ideals?"_

_I nodded, stroking the back of his hand with my thumbs. "Yes. They're common, really, just loathsomely foul and the one enforcing them – an incredibly powerful Dark wizard – had just taken over. He owns almost everything and everyone. There are groups of rebels but we've been decimated." I shuddered, remembering my father the very first time this happened: at Yaxley's feet and unconscious. But he couldn't know that. I had to protect the law and to do that I had to keep my emotions in check. "I chose this life, firstly, because – and I'm sure you know by now – I would have died if I hadn't."_

_"That's part of what I meant by 'nice escape'," he interjected, rolling his eyes. _

_"I know, but that may no longer apply here," I said before I could stop myself and then pushed on as he cocked an eyebrow amusedly. "Secondly, because, after I realized what I could do, no other choice presented for me."_

_He scoffed. "There's always a choice."_

_"Maybe the first time there was but hardly, even then, especially after…" I sucked my teeth and dropped his hand, walking to the window. "Even if you just look at it in terms of life and death in my personal interest, I still had no choice," I continued after a loaded silence._

_"But that isn't the case anymore, is it?"_

_I didn't answer. He'd laid a trap, and a stupid one at that._

_"Was it really so bad?" He'd come up right behind me and laced his fingers with mine. "Was it so terrible under the rule of the Dark Lord that you, having the option to escape completely and not suffer, _chose_ to put yourself through this?"_

_I gritted my teeth, still not able to answer. If I answered, I'd give too much away and I couldn't change him that way. Again, illegal. _

_He released a soft breath in a quiet sigh. "Can you at least tell me what it is you're trying to do to change things? Why have you come back six times? What's so difficult?"_

_I shook my head. "I can't…. You know the laws now. You know I can't," I murmured in a weak voice. _

_He squeezed my fingers softly. "I know…." His tone seemed off. It didn't come off as an 'I know' of understanding so much as an 'I know' of 'I fucking know about _everything'_._

_I turned slightly to him and saw that red glint had returned. _

_"What did the Dark Lord call himself, Thalia?"_

Oh fuck_, I thought when shit clicked into place. _

_A smile came and the red glint disappeared. But the smile, a broken shadow of what it normally showed, reflected sadness. "I guess the question should be: what has been happening in the past circuits that keeps you from killing me?" He paused and let the smile fall completely. "Because that is how you plan on changing your time period, right? Killing the Dark Lord that rules over wizard-kind? Killing Lord Voldemort…killing me…."_

_His words, a blowtorch upon the ice in my veins, caused tiny fissures to form and spread throughout the frozen blood into larger cracks. My heart began to force shards of the crimson ice throughout my body. The pain and shock overwhelmed me and I snapped. "You stupid _imbecile_," I hissed, swinging my hand out and making stinging contact with his face. "I could have chosen to _die_! I _would_ have!" I screamed at him as he stumbled back – a first – and into the same crib that I had before. Drawing my wand from the pocket of the dress, I pointed it at him. "It would have been so much easier than doing this…. Six times, Tom. Six fucking times, I've been through this loop and six bloody times I've had to watch the betrayal in your eyes and feel the betrayal in my heart. Six times I've had to come back to try to find a way…" I trailed off, my hand shaking a bit and just shook my head as he stood straight and wiped a tiny trickle of blood from his mouth. "I just wish you could see the things I've seen…. You'd understand then, Riddle, how much I love you….You'd understand then how this," I jerked my pointed wand, "tears me up inside."_

_He stepped forward, slowly but not hesitantly, and gently pushed my wand hand down. "Let me see…"_

_I scoffed and laughed humorlessly. "You don't get it, do you?"_

_"It's not illegal to see, Thalia."_

_I scrunched my brow up incredulously. "It is! What are you talking about? I can't show you anything – can't speak a word –" _

_He growled impatiently, rolling his eyes, and pointed his wand at me again."Legilimens!"_

_The question of why he used this spell verbally and with a wand instead of his preferred nonverbal and wandless version passed through my mind for a split second before the power of the spell threw me backward. I expected to hit the windowsill painfully, like the other times he's done this. But either I didn't hit it or I fell so deep into this that I couldn't feel it. _

_A woman with my eyes, my hair (although matted with sweat) and the same nose and mouth as me loomed above me, smiling through her tears as she held me to her chest. A baby cried, I heard, as a man came into view – Dad! The crying baby was me…. So, I _had _met her…._

_The scene swirled, colors melding into one another, and the living room of my home in Spain came into view. How much time has passed since I'd seen it? Still crying, but more forcefully now, I heard shouts of 'diablos*' and 'maldición**' and 'mentiras***'. My mother appeared over me and picked me up. I then screamed so hard it felt as though my little lungs would come right out of my chest because I could feel the anger and madness radiating off of her. _

_"No! Marielena! No!" I'd never heard Dad so panicked in my life. He took me from her vice grip very forcibly and something snapped painfully. My leg. He screamed something else at her, brandishing his wand and then she fell out of sight and I was screaming even more piercingly. _

_The scene swirled itself again and I landed in the living room of the same house, playing Donkey Kong with Jorge while our aunt Melinda slept on the couch. Or I tried to play anyway. I didn't quite understand the controls of the NES. The front door opened and Dad came in looking exhausted and disheveled. His eyes fell upon us and then upon the clock on the wall. The big hand on the six and the little one between the four and the five meant nothing to me at three years of age, but to Dad it meant a lot. "It's late," he said in Spanish, quietly. He shut off the television and picked me up, taking Jorge by the hand and walking down the connecting hall to our bedrooms. "To sleep, little ones," he said and again the scene swirled._

_"Manzana apple, verde green, castillo castle y reina queen__." The rhyme Dad had repeated over and over for God knows how long to teach me at least _some_ English had, by this point, worn down all but one nerve. In the Leaky Cauldron, having lunch, Jorge already had read through some his new schoolbooks while I struggled to figure out the bloody name of the meal I'd chosen. Dad, as always, emulated complete patience with me. "Come on, Thali, preciosa****. Please try," he pleaded with a pained look on his face. _

_"Manzana..ah-pol, verde…grin, castillo…cas-sol y reina…coo-in…."_

_He smiled warmly and stroked my cheek. "Muy bien, hija*****."_

_I felt myself force a smile up at him. I really didn't want to be here where cold and 'different' dominated everything._

_Again the scene swirled and I got swept into my most recent house – the one in London, where I messed around with Jorge's Walkman while Dad talked to him over a cup of tea about some attacks at Hogwarts. I didn't really pay attention past hearing the word 'Muggle-born' seeing as no one in this house had that blood-status. I did catch something about 'fifty years' but seeing as how that comprised of History and History and I did not make good friends, I still didn't care._

_Jorge's glass broke and the scene swirled. The density of the swirl as well as its consistency grew and fell thicker over me. Eleven years old and getting sorted with a lot of eyes on me as the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" made up this next memory. The applause hurt my ears as I walked slowly over to the House table and sat next to Jorge, trying to blend in, smiling weakly at everyone. It still felt wrong even looking back on it this way. I still didn't feel welcomed. I still didn't belong. _

_The swirling had pulled into it a deeper toned fog and as it cleared, the face of Harry Potter came into view, but from across the lawn. He and his friends bickered again, but what could I say to say to him? He is our hero, no? So what if I thought him thick as a stone for not checking that broom he got before he flew it? Harry Freaking Potter could do no wrong. Again, the swirl intensified and the fog took longer to clear away. And again, Potter appeared, with Granger this time, in the library. At fourteen years old, just studying for finals, I could only feel exhaustion. Two years had passed since the return of Lord Voldemort – yeah, I believed Potter. How could I not? According to Dad and all the shit going on around the world, he spoke only the truth. Dumbledore's hand got all fucked up on some secret mission apparently. Shit just kept going wrong. Even Jorge, who'd never been so paranoid, constantly wrote me and told me to keep my eyes open and to 'stay close to Potter'. He really believed in this Chosen One mess. Dad didn't. Dad just asked me to keep my eyes open and practice defensive magic. _

_I went a step further, though. I wouldn't get caught off my guard. So, putting aside my notes on vampires and werewolves, I pulled the more advanced and restricted book on offensive magic closer to me. Sectumsempra had evolved from the most disgusting spell in my arsenal to my favorite…._

_The fog returned at its thickest yet, and I pointed my wand at Yaxley in the Department of Mysteries' Hall of Time. But just for a second or two and then I got swept up in that whirlwind and thrown downward into that darkness. But no, I didn't. The darkness sort of blinked away and I found myself in the true Hall of Time – home of Father Time, that wicked old fool. _

_"Get up," came his sharp tine and then his claw-like fingers gripped tightly around my upper arm, pulling me to my feet as my eyes tried to adjust to the blindingly white surroundings. I saw rows and rows of crystal encasements filled with large, monochrome hourglasses, split by aisles and a single staircase, which led to a raised platform that had just one encasement on it. This one held many colorful hourglasses as large as the others in here. And then they slipped from my sight as the stooped man yanked me into another pristinely white room that held a single golden, baroquely designed table with one of the hourglasses set atop it. Filled with light blue sand, this hauntingly lovely glass caught my eye immediately. "Raging lunatics you lot always turn out to be. Now you've gone and stumbled upon a continuum at such a young age," the aged and obviously blind man muttered under his breath as he let me go and walked over to the table. _

_Rubbing my arm, I watched as he extracted a tiny hourglass from his robes. He waved his hand above the larger glass and its brass lid disappeared. Quickly, and still muttering, he scrapped the smaller hourglass through the sand at the top layer until its top half spilled over a bit and then waved his hand again to seal the larger glass. _

_Staring at him perplexedly, I didn't notice the warmth spreading from my extremities until it touched my chest and I tore my eyes from the sight of him sealing the smaller hourglass and magically welding a rope thick chain to it to look down at myself. But I didn't notice anything different. The warmth had no source. That fact nulled as the stooped man – Father Time – shoved the Time Turner into my hands and explained what happened. _

_I'd come into this world as a Traveler. I rode Time like a surfer rides waves. The Time Turner acted as my key in and out. It allowed me to forge connections between any points or periods along any single lane of the path of Time to form my own loops. Of course, this must occur with great care to not tear the Fabric of Time itself or to break any of the laws of Time Travel by breaking or diverting into another timeline from an already fixed timeline (the lanes along the path of Time). I may alter any lane slash timeline that I wanted; nothing in the Laws of Time stated that I couldn't. But I could not merge one with another…. What the hell that meant, I had no idea. Nor did I know what the hell I supposedly had to do now. Why did I get pulled here? Ok. Traveler. So? What exactly did that mean? He explained a bit more. I could Travel back and forth, if I so pleased, and make a difference but not _too_ large of one…. I still didn't get it but seeing as he said I could either go along with it or die (right then and there because we were at what was known as a 'Crossroads'), I chose to go along with it. Fine by him; he explained that now that I'd chosen the life, only giving up and returning to my own period would allow me to end the cycling. I would die after just fifteen years if I chose to give up this lifestyle after completing a continuum or loop. Fine. I'd just never give up and never turn down a trip through any continuum. Death and I don't play nice. But what difference could I make?_

_"I don't really know or care, brat." He ambled out of the room with the golden table and left me there to think…. Dumbledore, Scrimgeour and Mad-Eye had all died – murdered…. Dad...Jorge…I didn't even want to think of where on that list of casualties their names appeared…. So, I put on the Time Turner and the warmth from before – my own essence of being, of _life_ I now began to understand – spread through me again, pulsing blue. Like literally fucking blue. The edges of my vision blurred and pulsed and he came back, stating the obvious. "You've chosen!"_

_I whimpered, scared. What had I done? What had happened? I didn't have time to ask. His bony fingers on me again and gripping my face, he said: _

_"Look for Dumbledore. He will know what to do and so will you…."_

_The blue pulsing light of my vision swallowed me…and then spit me out into the Black Lake. I purged mouthfuls of water before I could breathe and push myself to shore. Staggering and shivering, I followed my one piece of direction: find Dumbledore. Edging around the Forbidden Forest, slinking and sneaking past the students in their old-fashioned hairstyles and shoes, I made my way to the Headmaster's office before remembering: he hadn't gotten the position of Headmaster yet. Luckily, I didn't have to play the guessing game because the very person I'd hoped to eventually find, Tom Riddle, appeared. The only thing, I realized as I saw this moment pass before my eyes again of Riddle guiding me to Dumbledore's office, that had kept Riddle alive then was the fact that I didn't know he _was_ Riddle. _

_"Sir…" I explained to Dumbledore, when I saw him, what I'd done, how I'd chosen to go after a student – Tom Riddle – the young Lord Voldemort, who'd evolve into the destroyer of our beautiful world. Then he explained what I must do: report to him…kill no one – only _change_ Riddle…leave without notice…. _

_So, after drying off and changing into borrowed robes, I found the boy who'd guided me here again. But this wasn't the Riddle I'd even been looking for. This was the spoiled rich brat Riddle that would not have anything to do with Lord Voldemort because he, as filtered and sugarcoated as it had come, had experienced love from his very much alive family. He would not rot from within stuck in an orphanage, stewing in his own anger. I'd jumped into the wrong timeline. The blue light mixed with the fog and engulfed me in it again before spitting me out into the lake again. Again, I found Dumbledore but this time I need not explain. He remembered. He understood. He also informed me that Tom Riddle, in this timeline did not exist. Again the fog engulfed me and again I swam the lake and again Dumbledore informed me of a miss: Riddle had come from a Muggle bloodline in this timeline and, as such, had no magical blood in him. So, again, I grasped the hourglass and closed my eyes to let the blue fog engulf me and spit me back out into the lake. Gryffindor. Riddle got sorted into Gryffindor in this timeline. He didn't even have the surname 'Riddle', but 'Peverell' instead. I let the blue fog engulf me again. _

_Tom Marvolo Riddle did, in this next timeline, exist and had gotten sorted into Slytherin House. The first meeting here made for quite the memory: I'd dried off and changed in Dumbledore's office after checking in with him and making sure I'd jumped into the right timeline; then, as I headed off to Gryffindor Tower, I bumped into Peeves and well, you know Peeves. Harassing me all the way up to the 7th floor, Peeves only stopped when, after getting caught pelting me with bits of chalk by the dark-haired Prefect. A loud bang echoed throughout the hall and a bright magenta colored spell ricocheted off the walls here in a pattern that left behind a makeshift cage around Peeves that he couldn't pass. A few seconds later, Riddle walked up to Peeves' cage and smirked that smug and distant looking smirk of his before saying to me, "You'll want that one in your arsenal, Miss." _

_The swirling fog mixed deeply with the blue light again and I lay on the grass near the lake under the beech tree, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on my face. The sounds of the giant squid propelling himself through the water and of Riddle tutoring Emily in History of Magic in no way distracted me or intruded on my tranquility. I felt at complete ease. Riddle and I had kissed the night before at Slughorn's Halloween party after he promised to keep me safe from the monster Slytherin's Heir had set loose on the school last night. We'd graduated to that in between stage: more than friends (for what else could we call this after so many nights talking and bonding) and not yet a legitimate couple. I saw my plan proceeding accordingly. He'd fallen for my smiles and compliments and, as a plus, liked that I didn't fit in with the rest…._

_The swirling grayish-blue fog enveloped me and threw me into the Great Hall on Christmas Eve as the others who'd stayed behind for the holidays proceeded to clear out. Riddle stood a few feet from me, staring at the side of my stubbornly set face. We'd argued that morning about Rose's touchy-feely manner with him. Honestly, I didn't feel too comfortable with the level of anger I felt at seeing her kiss his cheek this morning as she left for the Hogwarts Express. But it added authenticity to this whole thing so I let it rule me and we argued. We didn't end anything; he only told me that I shouldn't act so jealous especially with friends of mine like Mike who'd also gone too far by pecking me on the lips the night before. But I still felt like crap and even more so because I was trying to not feel like crap to begin with about the argument. Why did it matter that she kissed his cheek or that Mike kissed my lips when all I wanted was to change Riddle and his anger showed that, progressively, he had? My answer came to me just as the clock began to strike midnight; Riddle had made his way to my side after the Hall emptied and reached to take my face between his hands._

_"It's so stupid how we act," he said before trapping my response between our lips and kissing it away. _

_When he pulled back and I was able to breathe again, I vocalized the answer I'd processed just seconds before: "I love you…."_

_The fog took both of us this time into the common room we would share often right at the beginning of May of 1943. "Stay here," he ordered, quite panicked yet not showing it to anyone but me – that tight line turning his mouth to stone. He'd come barreling down the corridor where that boy had gotten petrified months ago on the second floor just moments ago and had run right into me. Refusing to answer when I asked why he looked panicked, he pushed and pulled me up the stairs and into here. Now, as he shut the door behind his exiting form, all I could think, as I had for many weeks now, remained, _I need to see what's been going on with him and his clique and that corridor._ Months he'd show up turning out of there every time he'd disappear and at first I thought it a coincidence. But now, after so many times of the same thing happening, I knew more existed behind his wall of silence. So, waiting a few minutes, I ducked out and ran down to the second floor corridor where he'd come from. I saw nothing there and I almost turned away, relieved to have seen nothing. But then I heard footsteps and a girl in hysterics._

_"In here, P-professor. Oh my goodness! She was just in there – on the floor – oh God – and she wasn't – her eyes – and – and." I only heard this from around the corner as I ran toward the other end as quietly as I could before the girl, Olive Hornby it sounded like, burst into horrible sobs. And it played like a silent film before me as I hid and lurked, peeking around the suit of armor I'd ducked behind, tuning the noise out, save for the pounding of my heart. Nothing made Hornby cry like that all year. What horrible thing could have happened to the girl on the floor to make her lose it this way? Dumbledore went into the bathroom she'd pointed out and moments later came back out and ordered her to do something while he sent a blue light scurrying in five different directions. Numbly I watched as the Heads of House showed up and Dippet and then Madame Marche. All of them helped to carry the load of the dead girl they extracted from the bathroom. Magic didn't fit for this task…._

_Again, the fog took me away from there and to Riddle's side atop the pitch dark hill above Little Hangleton. He'd brought me here after visiting his psychopath of an uncle and exiting his hut rather quietly and in possession of a new trinket: an ugly ring. "You want to see why I'm so…different…Thalia?"_

_I nodded and took his hand in mine, expecting him to pull away like he'd taken doing since I asked him about what had happened to Myrtle. But he didn't. He squeezed my hand firmly and turned to kiss me ardently, passionately – like he hadn't in more than a few months' time – before breathing, "I pray to whomever you believe in that you never have to do this in your life, love…." His eyes held an ancient grief in them and with one more soft kiss, he turned and walked us toward the massive, beautiful house that stood on this hill. _

_He used _Alohomora _on the front door and crept quietly in, shutting it behind me. He cast a muffling spell on our feet to quiet out footsteps and, with my heart pounding furiously again in my chest (for this recent habit of sneaking around now yielded all too real and horrifying results for him), I followed him through the dimly lit manor. He seemed to know his way around somewhat, which let me know he'd come here before. He doesn't do things without knowing what will work to his advantage. In a few seconds' time we walked into what appeared to be the kitchen and he unlocked the back door to open it before taking me back down the hall we'd come from. Here, he turned right where we'd turned left before and in a few paces we stopped right at the frame of the doorway that led to the drawing room. I could hear voices behind the door that let past a single stripe of light pass at its base, which illuminated our combat boots eerily. "Tom," I hissed, when I looked at him and saw him raising his wand again. _

_He didn't hear me or didn't care about the panic in my voice and pushed the door open, pointing his wand at them. And only then did I really see the stupid thing: that wand did not belong to him. Unable to draw breath for my heart beat too rapidly and limited the space for my lungs to expand, I realized egregiously late what he'd come here to do – what I'd suspected he'd already done in the past. Watching the poor inhabitants of the house scramble around the room, my eyes landed on one, the youngest of the three. "Oh my goodness…." Tom…only twenty maybe thirty years from now. _

_"Say hello to my father, darling, and my grandparents," Riddle spoke, icy venom coating his words as they seeped into my very skin, which erupted with goose bumps. _

_The three horrified Muggles (obviously Muggles for their fear of a teenaged intruder and his girlfriend) just stared at us, frightened, for a few moments while I tried desperately to think of a way to get his mind off of them and make him leave. "Wh-who are you? Wh-what do you want?" asked the elderly man, who held his wife close to him and who was extending an arm to protect his son, who had to be in his late thirties and cowered lamely at his father's side. _

_Riddle snickered a bit maniacally and turned to me, eyes glittering with malice. "I think you should pay attention too, love. You'll understand so much," he told me, pulling me to press me right against him. "You see, sir, I'm your grandson – your _legitimate_ grandson," Riddle stated, bile lingering behind 'legitimate'. These people stood no chance and yet I could only think of what I'd just heard: he'd just updated his blood-status to half-blood. This new information didn't click properly. I kept missing a beat but Riddle kept talking, unaware that I couldn't understand. _

_"Impossible. Tom told us that hussy had fooled him! That marriage was a sham! You're not his!"_

_"I AM!" Riddle roared at his grandfather, no longer smirking and sustaining an odd red glint in his eyes. Terrifying shadows zoomed across his once handsome now horribly contorted face and yet I could feel the pain behind those two words. "I am his son and that _hussy_, as you so call her, is still my mother, you worthless waste of a life." He looked like a statue in silence as he paused with the anger and hatred rolling off of him in sweltering waves as his steady words left his lips. But he didn't lose control. He kept perfectly and eerily still. "You couldn't even teach your son to be a man and own up to his responsibilities…." He turned now to his father, ignoring his grandmother who'd begun to weep. "You deserve worse than what I'm about to do to you, you filthy, loathsome, bile inducing Muggle…." _

_The fog couldn't drown out the green flash that came with his next words, but thankfully the next scene turned out happier…sort of. "I love you…. Do you understand what that means? I. Love. You. Te. Amo. Is that better?" He'd tried over fifty times to get me to listen to him, but I wouldn't. Two days had passed since the night in his father's manor and I hadn't spoken to him since then. How could I? Talk to a monster? He'd killed Myrtle and his family. And yet here he stood, in front of me in my room at the orphanage, telling me that I had nothing to fear. Perhaps I didn't from him. I knew he loved me. No doubt existed of that. But of course I had everything to fear for: his life, my father's, my brother's, my friends'…. Lord Voldemort had already taken over _him_. He'd killed – made one of those things! What did he call them? Horcruxes. Invincibility. He needed it and, because of that, couldn't change…so far. _

_But I had to keep trying…. "I know…and I love you more than you can imagine, Tom, but this…you can't do this anymore." I pleaded with him for the first time and even let four or five tears escape…. "I understand how your father failed you and hurt you and I understand why we needed to see Morfin and how that connects to Myrtle. I know she was an accident," I provided quickly before he could interrupt. "But, darling, you can't anymore. Please…please don't make me choose between staying and going…because if another person gets hurt, Tom, I swear I will leave and you will never see me again."_

_His eyes narrowed and I could only see slits of red there, but in a moment it had passed. He reached up and wiped the tears away from my eyes. "I'm sorry. I am who I am, love…. If someone gets in my way, I get rid of them." He took my face between his hands and planted a soft kiss on my lips before standing and turning. "I do love you…like you wouldn't believe, Thalia, and I'd give you the world and everything in it because, just like me, you deserve it." He began walking away. "But you don't want it…."_

_I pushed myself faster than I'd ever done out of my bed and rushed past him to the door, slamming it shut. "Don't…please don't…."_

_He quirked an eyebrow._

_What the hell kind of road had I just stepped onto? Did changing him come with losing my self-respect? Did begging him to not leave me just get chalked down as my only option? As if in answer to this question, or perhaps to disprove this, he came forward and took me into his arms, hugging me tight to him. _

_Swirling blue and gray with some white now, it seemed, the fog (or whatever it was) swallowed us and spat us out in Hogsmeade. Winter had arrived and this meant that, soon, Riddle would come of age. He'd kept relatively out of trouble and Darkness, save for making another one of those things – horcruxes. That ugly ring had fallen victim to that process. But, other than that, he'd been perfect. Sure, he still conducted those Knights of Walpurgis meetings but how bad could those be? What harm ever came from forming a club? Anyway, he deserved a huge gift and I had the perfect one in mind. He wasn't all that into luxury or money or material things save for historical shit, so I knew the gift had to be symbolic. For this reason, we'd snuck into Hogsmeade. "You're insane, Thalia," he told me over the wind as I started undoing the buttons of my coat. _

_Smirking, I shook my head and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running down the road, stripping off my coat and stepping into an old little shop that hardly anyone ever noticed: a tattoo parlor. Seconds after I stepped into the cozy warmth of the shop, Riddle came in, shaking his head and smirking. "You don't need to do this, Thalia."_

_I threw my coat at him and asked, sitting in the one seat in the shop, "I don't need to or you don't want me to?" I gave him a questioning look and waited._

_He sighed, crouching. "I know you love me. I don't need you to mark your body up –"_

_"You're beating around the bush," I scolded, glaring._

_Again, he sighed and said, "Fine." He smiled warmly, waving away the owner of the shop, who'd begun to set up the work station. "But _I_ want to do it."_

_I smiled too and nodded, sitting back. "Where would you like it best?" I started to lift the hem of my shirt thinking he'd say some really intimate part, but he reached out and grabbed my left arm. _

_"Where everyone can see it, love." He smirked and pulled me forward for a kiss. "You're mine, Espinoza," he whispered against my lips and I gave him one more kiss before he began his wand work. Magical tattoos didn't hurt as much as Muggle tattoos but they marked one in a far more significant way. They tie you to the person they symbolize for as long as that person or you live even if the tattoo gets removed. He pushed up the sleeve of my left arm and pressed the tip of his wand into my forearm. Immediately I knew something had gone wrong. This shouldn't hurt and yet…. I gasped at the searing pain, feeling as though I just got branded. I couldn't even see what tattoo he drew on because I'd shut my eyes at the first burn. "Look," he told me gently, guiding my face gently to the left. _

_Looking down, I realized what harm could come from joining a fucking club. The skull and serpent mark that I'd seen God knows how many times before today (which was possibly its first official time being used) leered up at me, squirming and a bit inflamed, from my arm. I wanted to vomit. But, sucking it up and thinking about what this must mean to him, I looked up to meet his gaze and whispered, "It's beautiful. Thank you," and shut the space between us._

_The fog came back and moved us into the Great Hall, where I stood with Mike, Eliot, Emily and Riddle, ready to curse Emily's face right off. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that?" she said, offended._

_I laughed a hysterical thing that didn't even sound like me in my wildest moment and spat, "Because you're a whore, Emily! D'you really think I don't see how you look at him? My God, you'd think someone who preaches so much decency would follow her own credo!"_

_"All I said was that maybe you should've thought the tattoo through a bit more. It's so bold!"_

_Anger flaring up inside me, because now she'd practically said that I didn't love Riddle as much as I acted like I did, I swiped my wand through the air and stunned her. She fell and three things happened very quickly. Mike leapt forward, brandishing his wand, a curse ready at his lips, Eliot fell to his knees to wake Emily and Riddle practically flew in front of me to send out the _Sectumsempra _curse. Mike's blood spattered us all in the otherwise empty Hall and his shriek echoed horrifically in the high ceilinged room amplifying the eeriness of the night. _

_Shock almost took hold of me then and tried to root me to the spot, but the thought of Riddle getting punished for this pushed me forward. I grabbed his arm and cast a Disillusionment Charm on the both of us, yanking him into a run toward our common room. _

_We ran right into the fog and I came out running after Rose Selwyn down the second floor corridor. She ran into the bathroom where Myrtle now enjoyed haunting the u-bend and I went in right after her, ignoring Myrtle's wails. "Bitch!" I yelled, catching her by her platinum blonde hair and yanked her roughly backward toward me. Holding my wand to her throat as she sneered at me trying to reach for her wand, I hissed the parseltongue word for 'open' at the sink Riddle had months ago pointed out as the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Her eyes grew wide in shock as the sink slid back to reveal the drain pipe. _

_I knocked her legs out from under her and watched as she fell, shrieking pitifully, down the pipe. Then I jumped in after her, landing on my feet and snatching her up by her hair again to drag her toward the main part of the Chamber. But I stopped about halfway down and stared. _

_Riddle hissed something at his monster that I couldn't remember the translation for just then. But that didn't concern me because I couldn't see the monster. I worried more about why Eliot lay on the ground, out cold. "Tom!" I yelled and yanked Selwyn with me to him. _

_"Why are you here?" he asked, eyeing Selwyn. _

_"I could ask you the same question," I accused. He'd promised to never come back down here._

_He breathed heavily through his nose, eyes boring into mine incredulously and then shook his head disgustedly. He raked his hands through his hair before releasing an unearthly sound and then hissing the order to 'back down'. After a moment of just Selwyn's sobs, I asked, "You were going to kill him?"_

_"Just like you were going to try to feed her to it," he said, turning back to me, a pained look on his face. _

_I almost smacked him. "You care more for her – "_

_"I CARE FOR YOU AND ONLY YOU!" he roared at me. "DON'T YOU GET IT?" he asked grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. "I will not stand by and watch you become a murderer!" He ripped my hand out of her hair and brought it to cup his face. "These hands will not be dirtied by anyone's blood, Thalia."_

_My lip quivering and feeling the adrenaline still coursing through me from having chased Selwyn down from the common room she'd discovered and tried to vandalize, I nodded. _

_"I know I made you this way even if you won't admit it. But that's why I'm stopping this shit. No more." He waved his wand at Eliot and he stirred on the floor, waking. "I promise," he told me…._

_The fog came and took me into the Hospital in London where Riddle lay, unconscious and attached to a heart monitor. The steady beeping of that bloody machine had the paradoxical effect of keeping me calm and making my nerves quake. We'd gotten back to the orphanage not two weeks prior for the summer and he'd gone back to his summer job at the bank. On his way to work, he suffered an aneurysm, but thankfully I'd walked with him and could call for help. I did so without thinking or knowing what had happened and then felt incredibly stupid. If this had turned up as a magical ailment, I'd have probably landed myself in Azkaban. Luckily, although the Muggle doctor had told me Riddle had no chance of survival because the vessel had burst and caused a hemorrhage in his circle of Willis, an undercover Healer who worked here helped me when she saw me fly into hysterics. _

_Now, I just waited for him to wake, still sniffling a bit and reminding myself how lucky our day had turned out. _

_He stirred a bit and blinked awake. "Hey," he said groggily. _

_I practically jumped on him as I got onto the bed. "Hey," I breathed, taking his hand in mine and leaning in, checking his eyes and feeling his wrist for a normal pulse. _

_"I'm fine, love." _

_I shook my head, biting back the tears threatening to come. _

_He reached up and pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. "I would've have been fine, Thalia. Remember the horcruxes?"_

_I looked up at him and for the first time since he told me about those things, felt glad that he'd made them. Death could never separate us…._

_Again, the fog came and I got swept away into the common room we'd shared for about two years. He threw himself onto the bed beside me, kicking off his combat boots and curling up next to me, with his face on my abdomen and his arm behind my back. I put aside the book I'd picked up just a few moments earlier and squirmed downward so as to come face to face with him. "You're awfully cuddly today," I commented and he scoffed, kissing me._

_"I just finished doing some practice rounds on the pitch so that I don't need to train today," he murmured against my shoulder where he'd moved his mouth to plant a circle of kisses. "How do you feel?" he asked, moving his hand down to my abdomen and then to my inner thigh. _

_I sighed contentedly, trapping his hand between my thighs and kissing his forehead before turning to the clock to see the time. Six in the morning. "More mature than I did five hours ago…." I turned back to him and kissed him again. "I feel like a woman," I whispered against his forehead and felt him slide his hand a bit further up my leg. _

_Kissing his signature trail from my shoulder to my mouth, he maneuvered his way around so that now I lay on my back and he supported himself on his elbows with his hips between my legs. "Nothing hurts?" he asked suddenly, a bit worried. _

_I shrugged and pulled him down for another kiss. "It's nothing that won't pass…plus with practice…."_

_He snickered and ducked down to kiss his way down to my tummy._

_The fog swept away my sigh of contentedness and brought in a shriek of joy. Emily, Eliot and Mike, with whom we'd patched things up slowly but surely, had decided to throw me an inter-House party for my eighteenth birthday. Malfoy, Black, Lestrange and even Greengrass had shown up with my crew and some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Upon cutting the cake in our private common room, Emily shrieked and quickly plated my piece, handing it to me. _

_Cocking an eyebrow confusedly, I took it and then gave Riddle, who stood across the table from her, a questioning look. He just shook his head, so I shrugged and dug in. Or tried to, at least. My spoon hit something hard and, picturing a clump of baking soda or hardened sugar, I dug it out of the cake. "Yeah…this isn't edible…. Honey?" I asked playfully sweet and turned to Riddle. _

_The room had gone churchyard quiet and he walked over to me, pulling his wand out, smiling. He pointed it at the spoon that held the inedible object and instantly cleansed it of the cake and frosting. The thin, gold band and three round diamonds sparkled in the soft light, asking the question at his lips before he could even get it out. But Riddle, the traditionalist of course, took the ring and got down on one knee. Gazing like I'd never seen before tonight into my eyes, he asked: "Thalia Espinoza, will you do me the insurmountable honor of marrying me?"_

_Emily had, at some point that I can't really remember, taken my plate and freed my hands so that I could reach to him and nod. "Yes. Oh my God, YES!" I almost shrieked, letting myself fall to my knees when he placed the ring on my finger and hugged him as tight as I could. "I love you so much…."_

_"I love you more," he whispered…._

_The fog returned and then swept us away to Diagon Alley where we'd rented a rather lovely flat. Riddle knelt at the fireplace in conversation with his new boss, the Head of the Auror Office, while I went over some of our legal documents to make sure everything remained in order for our marriage. This, as confusing a thing to do in normal circumstances, presented itself as nearly impossible with the pressure I now felt in the pit of my stomach. No, I didn't have a bun in the oven like many people liked to think. I just kept remembering the searing burn I'd gotten the night of my engagement from the Time Turner. It served me as a warning: I'd come very close to breaking a Law of Time Travel: to not make overly drastic or devastating changes – like having a baby with the dude who I'd come to change. Since I still had not gotten married, no laws had suffered any damage. But the closer I got to marrying Riddle, the more the pressure in my stomach built. _

_As I watched him discuss a case with his Head of Department, I made my decision. He'd changed so much from when I first met him and drastically from what he existed as in my time. He had a good job that paid well and lived incredibly peacefully even for an auror. So, I knew I could do this and not worry that nothing had changed in the future. He'd found peace and that meant he'd never suffer again. I remained the only one who'd suffer and, that, I could handle very efficiently: no more Traveling. _

_I stood and walked over to my fiancée to kiss him, not caring that his boss saw or if he thought me rude. "I love you," I told him and let him get back to work while I trudged to the bedroom. _He'll be fine. He'll find someone else_, I kept telling myself as I took out the Time Turner and eyed it. Its brass lids mocked me – reminded me of my fate and being. I, a Traveler, could never ever diverge my timeline with another and that included creating a wrinkle or a rip or whatever you wanted to call it in a timeline by dragging my world into his – my time into his…creating a life together. Fine. I'd obey the Laws of Time Travel. No problem. I just would not do this again. _He'll be fine_, I convinced myself…. But would he? _

_Hearing him from the bedroom talk about our wedding plans to the Head with that happiness that always hung from him now, I couldn't say for sure. I took my wand out and began to inscribe the accursed key to Time. My Latin had gotten very rusty, but this came close enough: _Tempus Monstrabit…_._

_And squeezing it tight in my hand, almost wishing it would shatter just to see if that made a loophole out of here, I let the blue fog engulf me and drag me through Time. I let go only when I knew I'd made it to the eighties and, luckily, to the moment right before my conception. The blue reappeared after so many years and then faded. Odd, but I ignored it because now the lights began to fade…._

_I saw my mother again and she seemed happy. Years passed and she never left, not even when Jorge accidentally set fire to her stove. She loved us. Dad, thanks to a new system of management and scheduling, had a freer schedule so he could spend more time with us even when we moved to London when Jorge had to go to school. No one got attacked in Hogwarts ever. Potter kept his parents, as did many others. The wizarding community, as a whole, felt more complete and functioned better. I entered Hogwarts and excelled in everything I tried my hand at and when I got into my fifth year, Dad figured, the time had come for me to try at least a summer internship. _

_One day, while at the Ministry of Magic, signing up for a summer program with the aurors, Dad told me he had a surprise for me. I waited in his cubicle for said surprise and just sat there, a bit bored, until I heard Dad's voice saying, "You've never met my daughter have you, sir?" My cue to sit up straight and look all prettified and shit had arrived and so I did. Smiling, I watched Dad turn into the cubicle and smile proudly at me, gesturing to me for the man following him. "Thalia, this is my boss, Mr. Riddle."_

_The name sent a spasm as strong as a shock from a car battery through me and my fifteen year old self remembered what I'd already lived. I remembered the face of the tall man next to Dad even with his salt and pepper hair and a new scar above his right cheek. He remembered me too, obviously. His black eyes widened and he whispered, "Thalia," before the red glint that I hadn't seen in so long reemerged and drowned in a green flash from his wand._

_"SHIT!" I heard from somewhere around me before small but intense waves of pain from the back of my head bombarded me. I groaned and rolled onto my side. When had I fallen? Ugh, it didn't matter. Pushing myself up into a seated position, slowly because I feared seeing my lunch again, I steadied my rapidly beating heart and tried to breathe evenly. Probably a full minute or two passed before I remembered where I sat and who I'd stood with before I forcibly relived that mess. _

_"Riddle?" I croaked and spun my head around so fast my neck gave a crick and the room spun sickeningly. "Ugh, fuck…. Riddle?" I tried again._

_I got an answer this time, albeit not the one wanted or expected. The sound of his combat boots hitting the ground fast and hard echoed in the room and I cringed, waiting for the sound of the slammed door. It didn't come. I opened my eyes and saw that he didn't even bother closing the door, which I guess did more good than bad seeing as a lot of the babies still slept. But now to find him. I stood slowly, ignoring the dulling ache in my head and looked out of the window. He came into view only when he crossed the courtyard and climbed the locked gate. Night had fallen and the breeze had picked up. I needed to change and fix my head before I headed out after him. _

_So, I ambled slowly and carefully to my room and changed into a pair of jeans, a tank top and an old pair of his combat boots from his younger days. After sitting for a few seconds, I decided I could deal well enough with the pain and headed out into the hall to sneak past Mrs. Cole. Once outside in the courtyard, sneaking out into the street presented no challenge. I got over the gate faster than even Riddle and ran to catch the bus. I knew exactly where to start but to be honest it rested on a wing and a prayer, this guess. A bus ride later, I breathed easier. I could feel his angry magic in the air when I stepped off the bus in Great Hangleton. From there I just followed the broken tree branches, smoldering bushes and lingering magic through the enclosed areas to Little Hangleton. _

_I didn't see him, but I knew he sat there, right on the front step of the Riddle manor, Charmed. Sighing, I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself and walked over to sit on the outer edge of the step. "I went back, you know…tried to take you with me after the second circuit." Silence met my words so I continued, "But Father Time wouldn't have it. He ripped us apart half-way back to my time and it almost killed us both…. That was so stupid of me…."_

_More silence met this, so I just shut up, unsure of what to say. I didn't even really know what had bothered him enough to make him run. He'd seen so much in my memories (it now made sense why he'd used the verbal wand version due to the sheer amount of crap he'd had to sift through) that had not happened in this circuit. In the circuits that followed the second one, which really just repeated the first circuit save for me trying to bring him to my period of time with me, I tried my best to deter him from ever even committing a crime and succeeded. From the third circuit up to this one, I'd kept him with me from the get and didn't let him do anything to dirty his hands. He still found out about his lineage and his dad and all that shit, but he never killed anyone, hence the Disillusionment charms. Yes, he still had his views and still had his little Death Eaters, but they just talked. I mean, I knew Riddle would go somewhere someday with this but I tried to keep him on a political track. This had gotten very easy for me to ensure by the fourth circuit. The only problem, as I just alluded to by telling him that I'd returned, remained that he would always kill me in my time period. For six circuits I'd been looking for a way to at least keep that from happening, if not to take him with me. _

_"Five times I've tried to kill you," he muttered finally. I nodded, forgetting he couldn't see me. "And you still come back…. Why?"_

_"Because I…" I'd almost said, "Because I can't take you killing me," but I knew that he wanted a deeper answer. Of course he knew I couldn't take _him_ killing me. He wanted to know _why_ I couldn't take him killing me…. "I love you, Tom," I explained, "I love you so much that it fucking hurts, okay?"_

_"_Why_?" he pushed, pulling his Charm off. _

_I kept mine on for a bit more, staring at him with his pained expression. Then, pulling it off, I answered, "Because despite everything that has happened to you in your set past and against all odds of you becoming what disgusted me most of my own time period, you remain the incredible man before me, love." I shifted closer to him and touched his hand. "You rose above all the stigmas, all the temptation and even all that anger you hold and sit here before me, asking me why I love you when you just found out that I'm not a Pure-blood, but a half-blood instead. You sit there and ask why I love you when you've tried to kill me so many times and don't even stop to ask: why did I try to kill her?" He didn't respond that so I clarified, "That says to me, you don't even care for the answer, that there's no excuse for doing that." He finally moved his fingers to lace over mine but the look on his face remained pained. "_That's_ why I love you, Tom…. That's why I keep coming back – why I can't fucking go back to my time and watch you suffer even if it's for a split second before I come barreling back here…." I stood and crossed my arms over churning belly. "It hurts so much that I can't stay with you and that you suffer to the point of wanting to murder because of me…."_

_Turning on the spot, I looked out toward the town. The town's lights shone brightly against the night sky, dimming the twinkling stars I knew floated above. The scene, beautiful as ever possible, did not calm me. _

_"You can come back as many times as you want?" he asked from my right._

_I nodded and sucked it up. "I am going to come back as many times as it takes to find a way to keep you with me," I told him, deciding it then that I would do that. That remained my only option. I couldn't leave him here and give up. I'd already put myself through this so many times because I kept trying to convince myself at the end of each circuit (the one I'd forged myself, stupidly, in the first circuit) he'd be fine. What had that gotten me? So, no more. I'm determined to find a way to stay with him…no matter what…._

_His arms encircled my waist and his lips met my shoulder. "I want to give you something…. I know you think it's ugly, but it's all I have that is actually mine…." _

_I turned, guiltily, to face him and kissed his forehead. "Nothing you give me is ugly, love."_

_He smirked and dug into his jeans pocket, extracting the Peverell ring, the one he'd tricked Morfin into giving him. "You've dedicated yourself to me in ways I could never even begin to properly comprehend, Thalia," he began, holding the ring up between his thumb and forefinger. "Six times you been through this and you even tried to break the Laws of Time Travel for me…." His eyes bore into mine intensely, lovingly. "The least I can do is promise whatever life I have left to you and all of my love." He smiled somewhat sadly as I tilted my head. "I mean to say that, darling, I know you have to leave but I also know that I'll see you again and when I do, I'll not lay a finger on you….."_

_My heart almost shattered at the look in his eyes, but his kiss melted away the sadness. I understood him. He'd given me a way out of this vicious circle, made it so that when I left it would be on my own terms: choosing Death over continuing life as a Traveler at the next 'Crossroads'. He'd never kill me again and with that he gave me what I'd been aiming at for six circuits…and yet…. "I'm not ending this until I can grow old with you, Riddle….."_

_He shook his head and kissed me again, slipping the ring on my finger…. "It'll be over before you know it…."_

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><p>diablos* - devils<p>

maldicion** - curse

mentiras*** - lies

preciosa**** - precious

muy bien, hija***** - very well, daughter


	12. The Reality of it All

**A/N: **ilovebookstoo, Hunger Games Lov3r, and everyone who fav'd/alerted themselves to this story or to me, OMG I cannot put into words how much I love you guys. Your reviews and adds were the best Christmas gift for me this year. Thank you. Simply put, thank you so much, guys, you're the best. Speaking of Christmas, FELIZ NAVIDAD to those of you who celebrate it. And for those of you who don't, I hope you have a very safe and happy holiday season and that you at least got a day off from school/work for this. As my gift to you, my faithful minions - uh, readers - guess what? DOUBLE UPDATE! Yeah, since this chapter is kinda short, I figured, hey, why not? I really hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a...recap, so to speak. Read and enjoy,my minions! =D oh and, you know what to do.

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Eleven – _The Reality of it All_**

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><p><em>"Love vanquishes Time. To lovers, a moment can be an eternity; eternity can be the tick of a clock." – Mary Parrish<em>

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><p>Musing on how she'd begun to resist the weight of the memories, I smiled. She truly emulated an incredible yet unknown strength. Unknown to her anyway. She wouldn't feel the true weight of this until her mind deemed it necessary and her capable. Even then, she'd not suffer as much as she supposedly should. A truly beautiful mind, hers. Now that it had come to her clearly – the whole story – I knew exactly where this would go. I knew her well enough to effectively slash at the doubts that tried to creep their way into me. Natural as it seemed after a bit over two hundred years – nearly a quarter of a millennium – I could not stand for that doubt to even flicker near me: <em>What if she gives up?<em> Well, she had…. Yet, here I stood and there she went head first into another circuit despite things having gotten reset, so to speak – things having been _undone_ when she tried to throw it all away. Two pieces of the same whole we remained in constant motion and synchronization. It might seem cruel that I, in the end, convinced her to stay in her own personal Hell by evoking our old emotions at the perfect moment in the journey – the moment _in between_ Time. But this path would never – _could_ never stop circling with our tracks until we got what we wanted.

What did we want? Well, Chronos over there – that…_thing_ he existed as – knew damn well what after all the shit he pulled for his _Laws of Time_. And do you know what? Fuck that. Fuck that decrepit fool, fuck his laws and fuck his heartless ways…. No. Heartless? Him? Maybe at first, but after seeing what love could do – bearing true witness to the sheer power it held over humans, he knew better. I ended up here and remained as a permanent reminder to him because of his absolute ignorance. Of course, he'd said millions of times that I'd taught him no more of a lesson than I'd soon learn, but I knew that he only wanted to save face with that. Hell yeah I thought he felt stupid after that second circuit! Look what ended up happening to him because of his overprotectiveness of his laws. He ended up with me here, having to save my life – double time, too – and Riddle's…. And for what? Just to get acquainted with the needs of humans? Or to have to find a way to keep that hourglass of hers constantly under watch for how volatile it'd turned after that? Or did he keep something hidden that I didn't know about?

Nope. He just didn't want to admit he felt stupid, which, in my book, made no God damned difference. He had his laws but I had mine as well. He'd never taken into account, because he'd lived here his entire existence and knew no other way, that there stood in place other laws. More powerful than his, these laws never, not even once, had gotten even the tiniest scratch on them. On the other hand, his laws couldn't even hold against two enamored teenagers. Then again, those two teenagers did have the backing of at least one those other laws.

Love. A law in and of itself, love cannot bend or break, cannot change or sway for anyone or anything, cannot fall victim to a trap or to maliciousness. Love, the ultimate power that exists, cannot die and won't bow down to Time. It sounds so fucking corny. I know. Trust me, I know, but after two hundred years to think and analyze every piece of evidence ever handed to you or lived by you, there remains no other choice but to accept this as the truth. Riddle, as we can all see now (most importantly, her), never got the love of a mother or of a father or of anyone. He did stew in his own anger as a child because he could never accept that his uniqueness had never made anyone covet him – never made anyone want him for a son. His powers had developed at an extremely early age and therefore this anger started in very young for him and led to his eventual Lord Voldemort-ness shit. But the introduction of love – my love for him and his for me – changed that…only to have it ruined by the Laws of Time.

Yes, the Reaper calls it Justice and Balance my having to die at Riddle's hand for my meddling, but as I've said and will continue to say: love doesn't die in its purest, most true form and as such I _will_ find a way to stay with Riddle. He thinks that eventually I'll give up and that, in turn, she will too. He has always failed to see what I've already done for this love, which includes ripping my own self apart and torturing the most innocent part of me until she bows to our inherent wishes. So, he'll never believe it until he sees it that I'll overcome his silly little laws.

Don't get me wrong. I do not in any way whatsoever enjoy hurting her. I know she doesn't want this – _I_ didn't want it. But it already happened. Nothing can stop it. This rolling stone has already set into motion because it meant to do so and has left me with only the ability to slow our memories down a bit to make this process easier for her. But that doesn't mean I can totally wipe the pain of discovery out. I can't do anything or give her anything for her pain of realization. I simply can't. But as I've said, she has a strength that no one can match. It dwells in her and will awaken when she most needs it. For this, I feel vindicated. For this, I know I've done the right thing. Because the love that came to life many, many years ago has yet to even slow down much less deter itself. It has survived six circuits. It will survive an eternity. She wants this because I want it and visa versa…and because he'd hit the nail right on the head in the first circuit: she, just like he does, deserves it….


	13. First Page of our Story

**A/N: **DOUBLE UPDATE! Yeah, I'm nice like that. :P jejeje. JK, guys, I just hope you enjoy it. This chapter is probably what some people were waiting for and is, as a special touch, loaded with cheese at the end. VERY heart warming. =) That's all I'm saying, though. Oh, also, please, my fellow 90s kids, don't fail me now. Just remember that boxing match please and gracias! You know what to do=) ENJOY!

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Twelve: _First Page of our Story_**

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><p><em>"Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime and never let go 'til we're gone." – Celine Dion<em>

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><p>"Unngghhhh…what the <em>fuck<em>, man?" I rolled onto my side so I could breathe properly…or tried to at least. The floor quickly came up to greet me and, again, I cursed. "_Gilipollas_! Tu madre, puto, tu madre*!" I cried pitiably, untangling myself from the sheets I'd pulled with me to the floor of the dormitory, which had now come alive with the sounds of scared and squealing girls. God would not have mercy on me today.

"Oh my goodness! Thalia! Evelyn, _move_!"

"Why should I –" But poor Evelyn never got a chance to finish her question for Emily had shoved her ass out of the way before her feet even touched the ground when she swung them over the edge of her bed.

"Thalia! Oh God. Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I can fucking hear you – please shut the fu –"

"Oh thank goodness. Come on. We need to get you to the Hospital Wing." I have no clue as to how that tiny five foot, one-hundred and five pound porcelain doll got my five foot four, one hundred and twenty-five pound frame off the floor and dragged me down the stairs. But she did. Quickly, too. I'd barely had a chance to protest properly (you know, smack her silly for putting her hands on me while I still felt so angry, confused, hurt, and scared bloody shitless) when she called for Eliot and Mike.

That lit a fire up under my ass. "Fuck no! Let. Me. _GO!_" I bellowed, struggling and finally breaking free of her grip. Sparing a scathing, seething glare at the boys' staircase, I booked it out of the common room and ran without a clue as to where the hell I wanted to go. Nothing mattered. The anger I felt towards Mike seemed like the only thing with any importance left and that had stayed constant since before the most recent additions to my mental hard drive. Bare feet beating against the cold floor and the rush of air pushing my night shirt back along with my untied hair, nothing – not even what had just passed before my eyes – seemed capable of breaking my rhythm: _huff – puff_, _tut – tut_, _rustle – rustle_; _huff – puff_, _tut – tut_, _rustle – rustle_….

I needed to keep going and stay angry at Mike. Yeah. _Needed_ it. Only that could and _would_ keep me focused. Otherwise, I think I'd throw myself off of the highest turret, I swear. This gigantic wedge of purely hurtful and shocking information had forced itself into the poor thing that I called my brain and I didn't know what the fuck else to do. Running to nowhere in particular fueled by a searing anger felt good. At least it did until the echo of Mike's voice resounded in the corridor down in the west end of the seventh floor and his Stunning Spell hit me square between the shoulder blades. He'd gone easy on me just now, but my anger still knew no limits.

_Fuck you…._

* * *

><p>"– bloody hell you are! No one called –"<p>

"– your _girlfriend_ called, Erickson! _Ask_ her, why don't you?"

"I don't give a tiny rat's _ass_ –"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Parkinson!" I finally heard clearly over the dull rushing in my ears. "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for your bright idea of stunning her!" Black finished off as my eyes snapped open, sounding quite pissed. That, one can assume, seeing as he's not the type to fly off the handle easily, fell immediately into the 'bad' category.

What the hell had happened? Had I heard correctly? Did _Riddle_ just say that _Emily_ had _called_ him? How on earth had she done that? Hogwarts had not one phone! Unless…

"You finally learned how to produce a Patronus?" I asked from my reclined position on the infirmary bed, turning my head to them. I'd awoken to – or got woken up by, more like – the sound of these people bickering, feeling perfectly fine. Physically. But the anger that had fueled me God knows how long ago, had only doubled – probably even _tripled_ – and all because of the scene before me.

Eliot and Mike stood with their wands drawn and pointed at both Riddle and Black, who also had theirs drawn and pointed at them. As if this hadn't enraged me enough already (I still couldn't stand to even look at Mike; to have him here in front of me, pointing his wand at Riddle was too much), Emily, it seemed, had ironically – _maliciously_ even – placed herself right in between Black and Riddle. She bawled and sobbed brokenly into Riddle's left arm, the side of her face that I could see already soaked and glistening with tears. I couldn't believe my scrutinizing eyes. But, as soon as the words left my lips, the scene broke itself: Emily gasp-sobbed and snapped her head up, still clutching Riddle's arm, Eliot's and Mike's eyes snapped to me, while Black half turned his head to me, nodding once in my direction.

"Alright there, Spain?"

I didn't answer, just stared at the back of Riddle's head. He hadn't even shifted his weight at the sound of my voice like the others had, just kept on staring Mike down. I thought maybe he didn't hear me through his own anger, so I almost spoke again. But he cut me off:

"Thalia, what's the square root of eighty-one?" He remained with his back to me, but from this angle I could see a tiny sliver of the back of his jaw and it had tightened significantly.

So, ignoring the deviation of the question, I answered. "Nine."

He nodded. "And of four thousand and ninety-six?"

I almost spazzed. "Of all the shit – hold on. Um…" Did I ever mention that I kind of hate math? Anyway, when I had the answer, I said, "Sixty-four…I think…."

"Good," he provided coldly. "Now, stand up and come over here, please."

Scrunching my eyebrows up in confusion and feeling even angrier because I couldn't understand what he aimed to do, I complied, curling my toes upward, trying not to touch the cold floor too much. "What is it?" I asked, annoyed, when I'd reached his side, having spared a tiny roll of the eyes for Emily's exaggerated position on my way there.

He didn't answer me. "See, Parkinson? Had she 'been in no state to think for herself' as you accused her of to justify your actions, she would still be suffering from said mental incapacitation, don't you think?" He paused only to sneer. "And had she been unable to get herself here having just awoken from what was probably just a nightmare, as Emily now admits she probably overreacted to, don't you think she'd _still_ be unable to even walk especially after having been _stunned_?"

Mike's jaw tightened and his nostrils flared, and his sapphire blue eyes held nothing but the utmost contempt. But they drained of all anger immediately after shifting from Riddle to me. "Thalia, are you alright?" he asked and the last boxing match I'd seen before I came to 1942 (Holyfield-Tyson II) almost repeated itself…or originated itself…or whatever.

Reacting as quickly as I'd fully expected him to, Riddle caught me and yanked me back by my oversized shirt before I could land my hands on Mike, intending to bite his fucking ear off. Do you know how pissed off someone has to get before that shit even crosses their mind as an option? It made no difference, though. Riddle pulled me back to his side and held me firmly in place, with the arm he'd just torn from Emily's grip secured tightly around my waist. I didn't struggle much. In all honesty, I really didn't want to hurt Mike – I know I didn't – but I just felt so angry. It felt as though ire had taken on the form of blood and pumped erratically through my veins, searing me from within.

"I would love nothing more than to let you do it, but I can't," Riddle mumbled softly to me before the door of the Wing opened forcefully and in strode Dumbledore with Madame Marche, worrying herself at his side.

"What is the meaning of all this?" The auburn haired wizard's voice rang stridently in the high ceilinged ward and sent chills from the very base of my tail bone right up to the frontal lobes of my brain. A shudder later and I'd ripped myself from Riddle's side as much as I could, which only allowed me to step about a foot in front of him. He would not let me go for anything. It didn't matter, though. I began to shout at the oncoming figure of authority anyway:

"Headmaster, this motherfucker right here," I gesticulated wildly at Mike who'd jumped back a few steps when I launched myself at him and had yet to step forward (the bleeding coward), "tried to fucking _kill_ me!"

"Uh, Spain, that's not the Headmaster –" Black began but I would not let him interrupt my tirade as insane as I felt and must have looked.

"Don't you _dare_ try to blame Riddle and Black for this. They were _elsewhere_ when I took off and was stunned. They wouldn't even be here if it weren't for this dumbass," this time Emily took on the role of Object of my Gesticulation and almost got smacked (_You should've reached out a bit further,_ I thought), "right here calling Riddle." I breathed heavily through my nostrils and clenched my fists at my side trying to keep from unleashing the fury within me at the oncoming injustice on the two across from me. Dumbledore had already thought once that Riddle had hurt me. I would not allow him to interrogate Riddle again.

Coming to a stop a few feet from Black who looked busy trying to hold up Emily (for she'd taken about ten steps backward in her Woman's Revolution kick), Dumbledore gave me the look that I'd long ago deemed 'The Priest'. Neither anger nor pride shone in his eyes, only pure disappointment. As if struck across the face with a whip, I quickly let my head hang, heavy with guilt, and blinked back the angry moisture forming in my eyes. "Miss Espinoza, I understand that you've been through quite a bit in just a half hour, and for this I will allow you leeway in how you address yourself to me; but let me clarify that first, Mr. Black is right, I am not the Headmaster, and that second, there is no reason for you to use so much profanity."

You know how when someone just puts too much shit on you, you snap? Did that ever happen to you? It happened to me.

"Well, if Dippet would show his self around here a bit more often instead of calling you to handle everything from tiffs in the halls right down to wiping his wrinkled ass, maybe I wouldn't be so quick to forget he actually runs this shit," I mumbled matter-of-factly to the floor.

Black snorted and let out a single "HA!" before biting back the rest of his laughter as did Mike. But Riddle stiffened while Eliot and Emily gasped. _Those two _exist_ for each other,_ I thought, rolling my eyes and looking back up to meet the old man's gaze, beyond caring what happened now.

"Misters Riddle, Black, Erickson and Parkinson, please excuse us. I need to speak in private with Ms. Espinoza. Ms. Brown, Madame Marche will give you something to calm you." He turned kindly to her, smiling warmly, and said, "You've done nothing wrong, Emily."

I scoffed and shifted my nightshirt as Riddle finally let go. He placed a hand on the small of my back, pressing gently there, before excusing himself and leaving ahead of Black, Eliot and Mike. Mike, as he joined the queue headed out the door, spared me an odd look but I barely saw it for I'd taken to staring Emily down while she sobbed as Madame Marche tugged her away to a bed at the end of the long room, next to the still petrified boy there.

"Sit," Dumbledore said sternly, walking to a chair beside the bed.

Part of me wanted to bend and sit on the floor just to tick him off, but the bigger part of me knew that wouldn't work so I just stood there. "I'd prefer to stand," I told him, immediately regretting it because the floor had already frozen all of my toes and I also didn't have my wand. What the fuck did I expect to do if I pissed him off to the point of making him lash out? Granted, Dumbledore had never ever in the History of Forever attacked a student, but, as the saying goes: 'there's a first time for everything.' I felt pretty close to making that shit happen too with how disrespectful I'd just acted.

He sat and nodded. "What happened?"

Really good question. What _had_ happened? This anger had to have a beginning – this rudeness, boldness needed a reason for it to exist, right? Yeah. Three guess where it came from. I huffed and crossed my arms over my ribs, hugging myself. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," I spat his own words back at him, beginning to pace.

You might ask, 'why is she so angry with Dumbledore?' Well, pay attention, please and gracias, because this shit hit me like a ton of bricks and took me a few turns around the goopy mess that consisted of my mind to even begin to understand what my memories had conveyed to me as I woke up from them.

Every circuit I go through needs to end, this I understand completely. But what, pray tell, happened with the last circuit? My memories, I guessed and Dumbledore had confirmed, came back to me and fell into a line. This makes perfect sense because the chunk I just received does flow with the rest if I place it before the one I'd gotten just last night and those fit right before the ones I got in October. But where the hell had the end of that circuit, which should have come to me from the get, gone? That made one piece of this anger.

The second lay in the fact that Dumbledore had ordered me, as my guide, to report to him in each and every circuit. This I knew because I remember it, now. If I closed my eyes, I could pull everything back to me instantly save for the end of the last circuit. But Dumbledore's orders still shine very clearly to me. So, why hadn't I done it? Well, the fact remains that I _did_. I'd just lied to him about what I'd done. I'd told him, in every circuit succeeding the first, that I had failed because Riddle had turned out Dark and that he died at Snape's hand because it worked the first time and stood valid, I figured, because he could only remember the earlier half of the loop – never the later years. How that worked, I'd had no idea, but I know I'd thanked every god anyone had ever worshipped for that bit of luck. But now, this shit just screwed me royally. Because I'd lied to Dumbledore, he had no idea that I'd fallen in love with Riddle and therefore could not stop me doing so.

Herein lies the culmination: Because he had not kept me from falling in love with Riddle, he fell victim to my lies (after the first circuit) time after time after time after time after bloody time…except for this time. In this circuit, I had no memory of not even my decision to live this way – no memory of who I am, much less of the fact that I'd fallen in love with the Darkest wizard known to us and had lied to the Greatest wizard known to us about it. Dumbledore, whether knowingly or unknowingly (I haven't decided yet), had taken advantage of that. How? Remember after the first memories had come to me and I told him about how I'd fallen for Riddle and how he'd broken my heart and that, for that reason, I'd given up? Well, if I'd lied to him in the other circuits about loving Riddle so he wouldn't catch on and stop me from keeping Riddle with me, then this information I'd presented him with had never crossed his desk, so to speak. This fact meant, it took me a bit to comprehend, that when he'd said that things now made more sense to him and that I'd never believe him as to why, he'd hidden this shit from me. He lied to me!

Okay, so I probably deserved it after lying to him about loving Riddle. And he'd hit the nail right on the head when he said I wouldn't believe him if he'd told me that it made more sense because he'd seen what had actually happened between Riddle and I. But, all that fluffy shit aside, this didn't erase the fact that Riddle, as Slytherin's heir, _had_ set the monster loose on the castle in the other circuits….

So, when I'd asked Dumbledore if this had happened before, and I'd taken what I now knew as evasion of the question to be his answer, he'd practically lied to me. There. The beginning of my anger lay right there in that fact. He'd lied to me about something graver and more dangerous than something I guess I'd already known deep inside. I loved Riddle, yeah, fine, but now what? As Slytherin's true heir and with me _knowing_, where the fuck did that leave me? What could I do? Nowhere near 'fair', this whole mess left me on the verge of tears right there in front of the aged man and unable to talk for a few seconds.

But, sucking it way the fuck up (because this required extra 'get over it' spirit to deal with), I nodded and sat on the bed, divulging the fact that I'd received the rest of my memories. I even told him about my newest discovery of my ability to just shut my eyes and pull back any piece without passing out and my theory on this happening because I'd gotten the majority of the memories back, so filling in the blanks just comes naturally – like waking up from a KO. He seemed happy about that, understanding, but behind the mask of kindness and solidarity – of bullshit, basically – I could now see what I hadn't before: cold calculation. He knew I'd lied to him about loving Riddle and at first, I guess, it had seemed harmless; but then the attacks started here in this circuit and he already knew Riddle remained the last of the Slytherin line. Of course, he'd want to protect his students from this, but at what cost?

I'd gone from "so very brave" to "so very dispensable" for Albus Dumbledore in less than a year….

* * *

><p><em>Stop fighting it – you'll give yourself a headache…. I. Don't. Want. This…. Too bad. Deal with it…. I don't wanna….<em>

Maybe five or ten seconds had passed since Dumbledore decided to leave me in peace, just a few of my thoughts battling each other, and to take a much calmer Emily with him. But the door had barely shut when it opened again admitting Riddle into the ward. Immediately the bickering thoughts stopped and I, unable to help it, smiled. All thought of love, of the Time Turner, of this new ability of mine scaring me more than helping me right now and, to top it off, of Dumbledore turning enemy on me went out the high arching windows. "Hey," I said breathily and slid backward to the head of the bed, folding my legs to give him a space to sit and forgetting the chair right next to the bed.

He returned the smile and stopped right at my side. "I see you've calmed down a bit," he quipped, raising his brow and smirking that teasing smirk I couldn't quite remember ever liking so much.

I scoffed, biting my lip, and nodded. "Sorry, Riddle, I…guess I just flipped…." I watched him sit on the bed and continued. "I just didn't want you to get blamed again for what you didn't do – especially with those two sons of bi –"

He placed a finger on my lips, effectively shutting me up and setting every nerve ending he made contact with ablaze and sending my heart thumping. "It's not important anymore past you knowing that I didn't hurt you," he said softly and removed the finger from my lips.

I nodded slowly, breathing measuredly – purposely forcing myself to remember the process. "Of course, I knew. I heard the psycho cast his spell."

He didn't say anything, just stared at me not quite blankly but not expressing anything either. After a moment like this he shook his head and said, "Some friends you have."

Shaking my head, I scoffed again and said, "I'm not so sure about that anymore…." He quirked an eyebrow and jerked his head once for me to elaborate. Half-smiling and half-sneering, I explained: "You were right. Mike and Eliot have been talking shit about you since he was attacked," I jerked my head in the direction of the Petrified boy, "and last night…" I trailed off, avoiding his gaze. I still felt so ashamed of that moment. I mean, yeah, Riddle took it like a man getting his background thrown in his face out of nowhere like that with his sarcasm and all. But, in light of everything I now knew, I saw how bad that had cut into him. He'd already figured out his true lineage and as such might already know that his Muggle father, alive and very well off, had never even tried to find him. This had 'Fucked Up' written all over it and I'd done nothing but stand there with my mouth open.

"Don't worry," he said, breaking into my thoughts. Looking up at him, I saw that his smile had a sincere light to it. I returned the smile weakly. "I'm just glad you see that not everything is as it seems," he said softly, tugging at a loose thread in the comforter.

I nodded and my curiosity got the better of me. "What exactly happened?"

Again he jerked his head for elaboration.

"I know Mike stunned me, but what happened from there until I woke up?"

"Ah," he said, nodding and then scoffing, shaking his head and yanking the thread out completely. "Well, after that coward unnecessarily attacked you while your back was turned," I smiled at his reiteration of Mike's crude actions, "Emily sent a message with her Patronus saying that you were hurt and that Eliot and Michael were refusing to help her take you downstairs. I was in the Great Hall, luckily, so I got the message and had Black come with me just in case things got dicey and I'd need him to take you down instead while I controlled the other two. Anyway, as soon as I got upstairs, Michael got loud and was saying that of course it had to be me." He chuckled and I shook with silent laughter a bit. "I picked you up and didn't even bother asking what had happened – I knew it'd been him because he has a habit," he continued, giving me a somewhat superior look. I felt myself gape, kind of shocked, at him because I hadn't known that about Mike. Then again, I really didn't know much about any of their pasts, did I? He nodded matter-of-factly and went on. "Emily was panicking, telling me that she worried because you'd fainted before and she just didn't want you to hurt yourself when you took off –" I 'pssh'ed and he smirked "– so that's why she called for help from those two. She told me she didn't want them to get in trouble so she looked for me and the whole way down she begged me not to give them a detention. I almost heeded her, actually," he added in answer to the darkened look I gave him at that. "But their mouths are way too big for their own good. We got down here and that's when the yelling started.

"I guess he started feeling guilty about stunning you and tried to explain away his actions by saying you'd looked ready to jump out of a window and that he meant to help. When that didn't work because Emily, scared, had told me that maybe she overreacted to _your_ reaction to a nightmare, he tried to order me out of here, the idiot. So, I gave him a month's detention for attacking you on top of the one he already had from last night and informed him that I wouldn't be leaving until someone of higher authority came. That's when Madame Marche came out here, saying she'd get someone for me and then Eliot tried to kick me out of here. I think you heard the rest of that," he finished off questioningly.

I nodded and then shook my head somberly. "Idiots," I hissed and leaned into my pillows, staring at the bed across from me. After a bit, I turned back to Riddle and reached a hand out to him. He took it and I pulled him into a hug. "Thank you," I said softly in his ear. He had to shift to my side so it wouldn't feel so awkward but he squeezed me just as tight as I had him and held me in his arms.

"I know it's very disillusioning, Espinoza, to find out what people are really capable of," he said quietly and I shut my eyes at that.

"Tell me about it," I murmured and thought of the boy here in the Hospital Wing with us, who couldn't even hear us but who stood as a testament to what Riddle had just said. "Do you think he'll be okay," I asked suddenly, looking up at Riddle jerking my thumb toward the boy.

Riddle grimaced down at me and shrugged. "There's an antidote for Petrification, but it'll take months to make – the ingredients need to mature." I watched him run through his little charade – the one Mike had told me about a while back: looking almost longingly over at the boy, his eyes set worriedly and a slight sadness envenoming his softened aura, and then looking back down at me with an 'I can't really do anything about that' look. Then he said what I guess only a bit of me didn't expect to hear him say. "But by the time they do make it, the Heir might have sent the monster back to finish the job."

I shuddered and nodded, accepting that as warning that more attacks would come. I had no other choice. Yeah, maybe I could call him out right then and there and tell him I know about everything. I could even show Dippet the Chamber of Secrets and have Riddle command his monster as proof. It wouldn't present itself as difficult at all for me to act as bait for that thing. If he protested to that, he'd not only give away that he knew that a monster lives down there, but also, he'd have to attack us to get away. Either way, if he protested or not, he'd land in Azkaban and _that_ would definitely count as 'making a difference but not too big of a difference'. Great, right?

_Yeah, 'great' like getting tied to a set train tracks to prove getting run over can kill you…. I thought you accepted that you love him…. I do, but that doesn't mean I _want _to…. Welcome to my world…._

Again I sighed and leaned into Riddle's embrace. "Some Christmas Eve, huh?" I asked eventually.

He scoffed and rubbed my arm. "I guess it could've been worse."

"It's still only, what, like seven in the morning?"

He chuckled and nodded. "And the school's still so bountiful with morons. You're right, this can get worse very quickly."

I laughed and buried my face in his chest, groaning. At first the groan expressed my derision at the day (for Christmas was really going to suck ass this year) but then it voiced the oncoming intoxication I felt after inhaling a lung full of his scent. Scent. Not cologne, this didn't smell like any cologne. Pulling my face out of there and turning slightly to have my back against his chest now and trying to keep my senses about me, I asked him, "What time do they leave?"

"Twelve, I think. The castle usually empties around then," he said quietly.

I nodded. Madame Marche had told me that I could go and say goodbye to my friends if I wanted to – that I would gradually feel better and could leave. But I didn't want to. Even if Riddle hadn't have showed up, I probably would have ended up staying in here all day, faking a stomach ache or something. More than the memories, the thought of Christmas weighed me down and made me not want to even move. I'd already done this six times, but it didn't make being away from my family any easier. The problem here, I realized, is that I've had fifteen years in between circuits to remember that I love my family too and now this year…well, you know….

"Do you want to go say goodbye to them?" he asked softly after a few seconds' silence.

"Nah," I said shaking my head. "Hell no."

Silence followed and it felt heavy, but not with awkwardness. Instead, thoughtfulness made itself present here. After a few minutes of this weight pressing on us, Riddle spoke again:

"When I was younger, in the orphanage, the matrons would dress us up in our very best and have us go into the courtyard on Christmas Day. 'The toy drive people are coming today,' they'd tell us, 'they have plenty of presents for everyone!'" He scoffed, staring ahead at the bed I'd stared at before, a distant look in his eyes. "We'd stand there waiting for hours, freezing, and all posed like nice little boys and girls as we were supposed to be. The older kids would try to keep the littler ones warm, but how can you give off body heat when you have barely enough for yourself?" He paused just to shake his head. "At around half past four these people would show up in their one-car caravan, dump a toy factory packing box or two at the gate and drive off…. Have you ever wondered what happens to the mistakes a toy factory makes? A yo-yo with half of a sorry excuse for string or a harmonica with half of Its holes welded shut?"

I grimaced up at him and he gave me a sneering smirk, nodding.

"There had to be at least one hundred to one hundred and thirty of us there on a given day and each of those packing boxes holds only about twenty or thirty yo-yos and harmonicas…. My first _real_ present – you know, a ribbon to untie and a box to open and whatnot – was given to me on Christmas of my first year here: Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans." He chuckled and shook his head. "Amazing, isn't it, the store people put into such a mundane aspect of what was supposed to be a day of something much bigger and more important?"

I grimaced again and said, "Well, I think the store is set into that mundane part because of shit like what happened to you as a kid…." He gazed at me, head tilted to one side, interestedly. "I mean, what else can some people look forward to in a situation like that?"

He nodded. "No family dinners, no laughter or hugs or anything of the sort, right?" he asked bitingly.

"Yeah," I said, sitting up next to him and taking his hand in mine. I could feel the moisture pricking the corners of my eyes but I would not let it pass. He didn't need that. Pity came last on every Christmas list and I knew Riddle wanted it even less than everyone else. "But some of us are stronger, right?" He didn't answer, just eyed me, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said softly and squeezed my hand gently. "And even just one person can make all the difference," he added, nudging my side.

I smiled and rested my head on his shoulder. "Hell yeah."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you don't want to say goodbye to at least Emily?" he asked a few hours later, a bit of worry shining in his eyes.<p>

I clenched my teeth. "I'm sure. She's at the top of my shit list, Riddle," I informed him, under our floating game of tic-tac-toe.

He gave me a questioning look and marked his red X dead center again.

I sighed, pointing for him to mark my white O right under the X he'd just placed and said, "She's been treating Eliot sort of shitty since she got all buddy-buddy with you."

"I'm not following you. Isn't Eliot on your list as well?" he asked placing his X in the top-right corner.

Pointing for my O to go in the bottom-left corner and blocking his win, I answered, "Well, yeah, but still. If you're in a relationship with someone, you shouldn't ever treat him or her like less than you just because you think you found something better. At least break up with him before you start acting all condescending, you know?"

"So, I made her condescending toward Erickson? But wait," he marked the bottom-right corner with his X, trapping me, "how?" he asked innocently.

I glared at him and swatted the mocking mist that represented our game into nothingness.

He smirked and drew another golden game frame up. "Alright, alright. So she thinks more of me than of her boyfriend. What difference does that make to you when he's on your list anyway?" He took top-left corner this time for his X.

I pointed to the center box and shrugged. "I already told you. I don't like that she treats him like shit just because she likes you."

He heaved a bored sigh. "Okay. I still don't get it. It has nothing to do with you – but okay, I'll leave it." He took the top-right corner.

Pointing to the top-center box, I nodded. "Thank you."

He nodded and then shrugged, marking my O and then putting his X in the bottom-center box. "No problem, and for future notice, you don't have to hide the fact that you have a crush on Eliot from me."

I sat up so fast (we'd taken a reclined position on the bed to play) that the rush of air messed our game up.

He gave me a bored look and asked, "Seriously? We have to start again?"

"What the hell did you just say?"

He smirked. "Did I hit a nerve?"

I scoffed and laid back down. Trap. Not falling for that. "Still fishing for compliments, are we?" I asked as he drew up another game and placed his X dead center again. I could hear his smile more than I could actually see it and his laughter got me going as well.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry. You're very shy about liking me still, Espinoza, right?"

"Oh, so very shy, Riddle," I drawled, pointing to the top-right.

He scoffed and placed his X top-left.

And we stayed like that for hours, trying to avoid really talking about anything too holiday-ish or to do with festivities. We did talk a lot about the secret passages in and out of Hogwarts and of the best times to sneak out of the castle. ("_You_, Mr. Perfection, have snuck out?" "Shut it, Thalia.") Also, we complained about the load of holiday work. Well, I complained and he just shook his head and smirked. Night had fallen and the suits of armor right outside the Wing door snored loudly before we even got bored of tic-tac-toe and decided to walk around a bit to loosen up.

"Think it's safe to get out of here?" I asked him, stretching a bit.

He suppressed a yawn and nodded. "They'll have made it to their own beds by now. Look at the time," he said, pointing to a clock right outside Madame Marche's door.

"Wow. What's that, like almost fifteen hours we've been here, then?"

He nodded and waved me over to the door of the Wing. "I'll take you up to the Tower."

I nodded and walked stiffly over, hugging myself to keep at least my arms warm. I still only had my night shirt on.

He shook his head at me before pulling off his deep blue jumper and handing it to me, leaving himself in only a white T-shirt and the dark denim jeans and boots he'd had on. "Put it on before you freeze."

Without thinking, I took the jumper and slipped it on, snuggling in the residual heat from him wearing it. "Thanks."

We crept quietly out of there.

I don't know whether to blame the first silent stretch of the day or his smell sticking so persistently to the sweater for the thoughts that permeated my mind the whole way up. Honestly, since I hadn't really thought too much on it all day, I guess I should have expected this to happen. But the fact that I literally, in less than twenty-four hours, went from 'mehh, he's alright and kind of cute' to 'I love him more than my own God forsaken life' placed last in the things I needed to think about while Riddle held my hand, gently stroking the back it with his thumb.

Why? Just, why? I mean, okay, I've never said I come anywhere near sainthood nor that I want to. But I'm a pretty decent person. I took this mission on without knowing what the fuck it held for me all because I wanted save Dad and Jorge…and maybe a couple of other people, right? Maybe not the best example of selflessness, but come on, man! I never thought falling in love would mean so many struggles. Didn't people in love usually, you know, have happy moments? _Well, then what do you call all those nights in the library and out on the grounds and _especially_ today? Were you not happy to be held so tight to him? Did you not enjoy his company so much that you didn't even realize time passing and, most of all, you not panicking? _Yeah, that remained true. I had all day to panic about this and of all those moments that I could have taken to myself to freak the fuck out, I chose now. Now: as he walked me upstairs to my common room and as he prepared to end the night…to end the time with him….

I suppressed a sigh (because I need him asking me what was wrong like I needed another hole in my head), shook my head and shifted my fingers so they intertwined with his as we reached the moving staircase and tugged on it.

He stopped climbing the steps and turned to me as I came to a stop as well. "Is everything okay?"

I nodded, clenching my teeth to keep myself from babbling nervously. After taking a deep breath, I spoke. "I just…wanted to say…" I couldn't do it. I'd thought that maybe expelling my feelings verbally might, in some way, shape or form, alleviate me of this knot in my chest and the guilt in my stomach. But no, I couldn't even get this shit out let alone think about how I might handle the thought out in the open of my adoration of this killer. I couldn't. I shook my head and said, "Sorry…I'm just tired, I guess."

He smiled and brought my hand to his lips, kissing the spot he'd been rubbing. "No need to apologize," he said softly into my skin and then turned to tug me gently behind him.

You already know what I feel at this point. How much clearer can I put it? I love him. Tom Marvolo Riddle had, somewhere between September 3rd 1942 and December 24th 1942, captured the ridiculously useless muscle in my chest (well, useless in terms of processes that don't keep me alive like 'feelings' and shit like that). But, as I'd seen with my very own eyes, he, Slytherin's only heir, kills. Granted, these murders have not taken place, yet. But only yet. They loomed dangerously near. Myrtle, the ghost that haunts the loo in 1997 – the chick Olive Hornby loves to pick on more than me, stands as the first future victim of Riddle's true yet accidental wrath. I knew this – had _seen_ it. Yet, it did not matter in the least. My heart, probably the stupidest one in existence, still beats at about a thousand beats per second just for him. It knew no guilt, no pain other than separation from him and cared not that my poor stomach probably had bleeding ulcers all over it from so much guilt that my mind _did_ process.

But what could I do? I couldn't say this had happened due to some memories because, even if I took those out of the equation, hadn't I still admitted that I had a crush on Riddle some time ago? Hadn't I also admitted that said crush had evolved into something more? There. This could not get blamed on some silly 'influence' tolerance. This had practically written itself in the stars for me. It was supposed to happen this way….

At the portrait of the Fat Lady, Riddle stood, statue-like, staring out the window. It had begun to snow and the flakes fell with a majestic sway that I could never truly accurately describe upon the sill, some sticking helplessly to the glass. Gazing up there as well, I pictured myself as one of those flakes that, instead of joining its peers in the little mounds of fluffy snow on the sill, had gotten stuck to the glass. What would happen to that tiny flake? A part of me wanted to believe that the wind could pick it up again – could help it to join the rest of the mounded flakes. But I knew better. It would only freeze on the glass, never to move again and would only have death at the mercy of the Sun's rays to look forward to.

"You look sad," I heard Riddle say through my own saddened reverie. Then I felt his fingers on my forehead, flattening the crease that had formed there from the macabre thought I'd just had.

"Huh?" I asked, turning to face him quickly. "Oh, sorry, no I just…was thinking." I smiled as he retracted his hand.

"About?"

"Melting snowflakes," I answered almost sadistically or masochistically…. I couldn't decide.

He gave me a perplexed smile and shook his head. "I'm never going to understand you, am I, Thalia?"

I smiled hugely, teasingly. "Nope."

He laughed and started up the stroking of the back of my hand again.

I laid my free hand over our entwined fingers, not thinking or caring much anymore about anything really, for his eyes had taken on a shine with the reflected moonlight and had trapped me. Slowly, gently, _tenderly_ I stroked the curvature of his hand at the joint between his thumb and forefinger, stepping nearer. "It's almost Christmas," I told him.

He nodded. "Maybe as a gift, you could help me to understand why melting snowflakes make you sad?" he proposed quietly and pressed his forehead against mine, eyes still shining and devastatingly beautiful.

I breathed deeply through my nose, trying to gain control of my heart, which tried desperately to break its way through my ribs. It knew, before my mind had even defogged itself enough to begin to process the moment, what it entailed and what would happen next. "They melt and that's sad," I said, trying to explain, I guess. But it nulled, totally unnecessary, as Riddle shut the space between us, crashing his lips onto mine in my first kiss.

The very first time I tasted ice cream, the very first bubble bath I took to de-stress, the first time I flew a broom, the first goal I made in football, the first time I spoke English clearly, the first time I held my wand, and the very first time I cast a spell could not compare to this moment. Never could anything _ever_ match the sweetness, the excitement, the soothing warmth, the emotion or the magic of this first kiss. I didn't need to remember the previous first kisses or see future ones to know this.

Yeah, I still didn't know what to do, so I couldn't really kiss back. But it didn't matter. Riddle's gentle, warm and tingle-inducing kissing felt more than sufficient right now and I welcomed it. I also welcomed the warmth of his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me to his torso. I snaked my arms over his shoulders and tried mirroring his lip movements to see if that worked and at least let him know that I wanted this to keep going even if I didn't know how.

It did. He smiled against my mouth and, with another gentle peck before pulling away, he asked, "Is this your first kiss?"

I bit my lip and stared him dead in the eyes, daring him to make fun (we're not all Casanovas like him), before nodding once.

He smiled a warm smile and said, "Good," before resuming his mind scrambling process.

This time around I got the hang of it quickly and even got down to some nibbling before a clock nearby started chiming twelve. Surprised, we both pulled away this time, and looked around for the clock before realizing it had come from a painting.

He smiled down at me again and I couldn't help but smile back. "Happy Christmas, Thalia," he said barely above a whisper.

"Feliz Navidad, Tom," I said in a voice just as low and stood on my toes to meet his lips again.

"Am I going to have to watch you two snog each other all night or am I going to get a password before I fall asleep?" asked the Fat Lady rudely.

We both smirked and pulled back again as he said, "These paintings are getting on my nerves."

I giggled. Yeah, I know. But I just felt so happy and at ease that I really can't even get mad about that. Nodding, I said, "It's because they know you so well already."

He smirked, shaking with silent laughter, and kissed my forehead. "They wish," he said softly and, clasping my face gently in his hands, kissed me again. "Good night."

"G'night." I turned to the Fat Lady, smiling, and gave the password. All the way up to my bed, still wrapped snuggly in Riddle's jumper, I could only think of the smile he'd just walked back downstairs with. Beyond genuine – simply heartfelt, I could _feel_ – and beautiful as ever, it flashed over and over on the backs of my eyelids only to give way to the memory and residual sensation of our kiss. Falling into the calmest sleep I've had all 1942, I felt only happiness….

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><p><em>Gilipollas<em>! Tu madre, puto, tu madre* - _Jerk_! Your mother, motherfucker, your mother! (There are several connotations of the words "gilipollas" and "puto". Please note that here, in this usage, only the translation I give is what is meant to be conveyed.)


	14. Authenticity is a Four Letter Word

**A/N:** First of all: I know, I know. I took forever again. But, dudes, do you know how much writer's block sucks? Ugh, yeah, worse than a vaccuum. Anyways, I'm so sorry it took so long and that this chapter sucks so bad but the plot needs to move along, right? Anyways, to my reviewers (I see some of you are changing your names so I shall name you by how you signed your reviews if that's alright), Hunger Games Lov3r (FadedSunset, I think now), Fernanda, Sara, Jack, and IcewWolf90, and also to those of you who added my story to your favs and alerts (EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU): THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND ADDS! You guys are awesome, you know? I can't say it enough, you guys keep me going! Hunger Games Lov3r/FadedSunset, of course I won't leave this story unfinished...NEVER! lol and I'm loving that you are so into this story. Bubbles of glee flow from me for that :P. Fernanda, I'm glad I got you to love this and hopefully you stick around for the solution =). Sara, yay, I shall try to keep updating more frequently. Jack, hopefully you stick with me to see the end. IceWolf90, no worries - I totally feel you on the busy: the holidays always suck for that and the inboxes drown/explode always, don't they? lol, I'm glad you loved that last scene and hopefully you keep loving the ones to come!

Wow, I talk alot. Anyways, read on, guys, and try to see past the shitty chapter and into the actual plot. Again, I apologize for the crappiness and hopefull you stick with me. Enjoy and ya know what to do. =)

Credit to Green Day for the song _Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)_

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Thirteen –_ Authenticity is a Four Letter Word_**

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><p><em>"Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you." – Carl Sandburg<em>

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><p>The next morning, waking up…yeah, not so much of a bitch as usual. I roused and stirred around in bed, Riddle's sweater clinging loosely to me, remembering the night before. And I just lay there for a while, tranquil, taking in what remained of his scent. I know I sound like the only stalker, but oh my God, if you could just smell him! Somewhere between vanilla and maybe a hint of coconut rum – warm and enhanced by that warmth. Orgasm for the sense of smell. Just saying. At any length, it made me happy that I could take those few seconds to myself before plunging right into my "blech!" moment.<p>

I know I've done sort of a…quarter turn, I guess one could call this as opposed to a one-eighty. I know a lot of people would think me a maniac for how flip-floppy I've gone lately. I would agree with them. I have acted like a bloody maniac. 'Riddle creeps me out.' 'I have a crush on Riddle.' 'I hate Riddle.' 'I kind of like Riddle.' 'I don't know what to do about Riddle – just push on, I guess.' 'I really like Riddle.' 'I love Riddle, but he murders.' 'I love Riddle.' 'But he murders.' 'I love Riddle.' 'But he murders….' Yeah, I annoyed the shit out of myself too. Sorry. But this right here – this mess – yeah, nowhere near over.

I have a decision to make now because this rapid change in emotions besides "ugh! Make up your mind!" worthy, means something bigger, obviously. Cheesy as it sounds, this way that I feel – the love I have for Riddle… really seems like something from the stars. I mean, it survived, didn't it? Six circuits later at give or take fifty years a piece, and this still just keeps going and going. Yeah, all well and good up until you get to the part about the Grand Canyon sized tear it has formed in me.

Riddle has started onto the path that Dumbledore had said he'd toed for some time now. Lord Voldemort very much exists within him (those times he'd disappeared suddenly or would be around the school with his clique before the attack on the Muggle-born boy came back to me and I could practically see him trying to figure out how to open the Chamber of Secrets or researching how to make those bloody awful things – horcruxes.). I already _know _where this will go and I know that I can stop it and probably even take Death like a woman in 1997. I know that if I let him kill me, I'll be the last victim of his wrath without risking his descent into Darkness amongst other possible victims. He'll go to Azkaban and probably die in there and the wizarding community would remain the safe place it had turned into with my Time Tinkering. The greater good would be served if I took that path. Fine.

But what about Riddle and me? Could you imagine spending the rest of your life in Azkaban for killing the one person you thought loved you – the one person you've ever loved and trusted enough to show every piece of your broken and defective self – because you thought they left you for no good reason? Not even the person _herself_, but a descendant of hers (because Riddle isn't so stupid as to think that I really stayed fifteen all those years later)? The Dementors would feast on Riddle if I let that happen and I couldn't do that. And, yeah, a lot of that decision stemmed from my inability to take _him_ killing me but I knew what would happen if I tried to change Riddle now and that factored in heavily too. I couldn't put him through that, but not doing so meant not letting him get there at all….

No, I don't mean killing him – hell no! I mean to say that, even with me changing him all those times and reworking and reworking bits and pieces – always keeping him on a political track and never letting him harm anyone – what good does it serve if it still lands him in Azkaban? Nah. No more. I would not let that be the only possible end to this shit. There had to exist another path – one that meant I didn't need to make him suffer…. But then if I didn't let that happen – if I didn't change Riddle to the point where he suffers, Dad and Jorge would most likely end up dead….

Tada! Grand Canyon, meet People. People, meet Grand Canyon. I know it took me forever to get here, but come on. Cut me a break. Physically, I'm fine but so exhausted in so many other ways. I consider myself lucky that I even got here and didn't end up repeating the last six circuits like a dumbass to escape this. Especially with things going the way they have with Eliot, Mike and Emily…_again_.

The presents they'd gotten me lay at the foot of my bed. By now those guys would probably have already opened the ones I ordered for them weeks ago. But what did it matter? _Shit's just not the same….Actually, it's the same as always. You just still maintain the mentality with which you became friends with them in the beginning of this circuit and hence are separating this circuit from the rest based on emotions, which as we know, is a bad idea…. So, how'd you like that kiss last night? …Shut up…. Yeah, I knew there had to be something to shut you up…._

Sighing, I kicked the covers aside (successfully sending my presents to a corner) and got up. With the dormitory empty and nearly all of Gryffindor Tower home for the holidays, my shower was to be a long and well-deserved peaceful one. I also still had one more gift that, thanks to my stupidity toward certain ill-received friendships, I had to _make_. So, this peace and quiet turned out good for me.

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><p>I entered the Great Hall a while later, raking my fingers through my wet hair and wondering vaguely whether or not I should learn how to do shit with it other than, you know, wearing it down or in a ponytail. <em>Meh, it's too much work…. Maybe you should ask Riddle? …Fuck you.<em>

"Espinoza," said Malfoy cordially yet stiffly as he passed me by the Gryffindor table.

I gave him a two-fingered salute and said, in the same tone, "Malfoy." Then, letting my good mood take over again, I turned on my heel and called, "Merry Navidad, dweeb!"

"Aww," he said with a pitying look on his face as he turned to me. "I see you didn't get what you wanted for Christmas."

"Eh?" I asked, lifting a brow theatrically and waited for his little jibe. Hey, even pricks like him should get a little something on Christmas. So I let him have his moment.

"A personality," he said, smirking proudly and turning to continue on his way.

I laughed softly and sat down to make myself a plate, but stopped midway through buttering my toast. A flat-headed little owl landed its feathery ass right in my eggs and, withdrawing its wings, knocked over my goblet of pumpkin juice. I shook my head at its despicable landing and then, alleviating it of its load (a _Daily Prophet_) grimaced. "This isn't for me, is it? I didn't order it."

It just took off without even pecking me once for money.

Odd. Definitely odd. But, hey, free newspaper. Awesome. I unfolded it and laid it to my left so I could start making myself another plate, which resulted a useless feat. I lost my appetite as soon as I read the headline:

_BRITISH FAMILY IN ROMANIA, GRINDELWALD'S LATEST VICTIMS –_

_A Sign of Things to Come?_

Grindelwald – Voldemort of _this_ era – had totally slipped my mind. "Ugh," I said releasing the breath I didn't even realize I'd held in upon reading. _Well, this just fucked up my decision…. You decided already? …Yeah, but now…fuck, man…. Why do you feel guilty about Riddle when it comes to Grindelwald? …Because people are suffering…people _will_ suffer if I don't do anything…. And _you _won't if you do?_

I sighed and reached for some water. _True_. I'd based my decision earlier to find some loophole around this Law of Time Travel – to stay with Riddle instead of changing him – on my first true act of selfishness in a long time: thinking about what the fuck _I_ want. As bad as things seemed, I couldn't let guilt eat at me when it came to something so important as my happiness. I would stick to my decision to use the next three years to find a loophole no matter what happened. Besides, if changing him came so easy to me in the circuits after the second, then I could pull the same shit here within the last few months if I needed to, right? Right.

Once the bile that had risen had slid right back down into my stomach, I turned quickly toward a soft _clink_ on my right hand side. Not seeing anyone there, I looked down at something that caught my eye: a small red box tied with gold ribbon. Curiosity pushing my brows together into a frown, I picked up the gift and tugged the ribbon off. Upon removing the lid, I smiled and picked up what lay inside. The small silver medallion hung from a ball chain and had an inscription on it that I only caught when the light hit it at an angle: _sine labore nihil_*. "Hmm," I uttered and then smirked. Unclasping the ball chain, I looped it around my neck and clasped it again before digging in my pocket for the similarly wrapped gift for the person who I knew had left me this one. Having extracted it, I laid it on the same spot mine had lain and got up to leave.

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><p>"<em>It's not a question but a lesson learned in time<em>," I sang softly to myself outside as I leaned against the base of the Astronomy Tower. "_I hope you had the time of your life_." Yeah, I got cheesy, and what? Name a moment when you haven't, and I'll tell you how cheesy you looked. Anyway, I really can't sing, so it makes no difference. I continued humming the chorus until I heard the distinct crunching noise that frozen grass makes when someone steps on it and fell silent. Straining my ears, I caught the sound of a cloak dragging on the grass as well and smirked when I felt a hand on my right arm. "No Disillusionment Charm, Riddle?"

He snickered softly and turned me gently to face him. "Why bother?" he asked, a smile lightening his already handsome features to near godlike. "You already knew it was me even before I stepped out here."

I too snickered softly and nodded, grabbing the hand that slid all the way down my right arm and intertwining my fingers with his. Spotting the gift I'd made him (a medallion just like mine, silver and oval shaped, hanging from a ball chain as well and inscribed with the phrase "_mors ultima linea rerum est_"), around his neck, I smiled warmly up at him. "I hope you like it," came my soft-spoken sentiment before I stood on my tippy-toes and kissed him lightly. I began to slip back down onto the soles of my feet, but he caught me by my waist with his right hand and held me there to deepen the kiss. The introduction of his tongue into my mouth…just, oh my God. I'd always thought I would feel disgusted the first time this happened to me and that I would bite the guy's tongue off for even trying to do it because the idea of another person's tongue in my mouth sounded flat out nasty. But, yeah, no, that didn't happen here….

His mouth tasted of spearmint and a hint of orange juice I think. Or maybe pumpkin juice? You know, I really didn't care past the fact that it felt amazing to get this deep into a kiss. I'd forgotten exactly how amazing, obviously, and just wanted to concentrate on enjoying this feeling and that of eliciting a small, soft, nearly inaudible groan from him….

"I do," he said when he finally pulled away, a bit breathless.

I stood straight again, also breathless, and grinned up at him, saying, "Good."

We spent the morning together out on the grounds just walking and talking ("A lot of money will be changing hands come start of the new term" "Is _that_ what people have been betting on since you visited me in the Wing the first time?" "You have no idea, Thalia."). Then we went back inside to start the feast with the rest of the students who'd stayed for the holidays. Although not many had stayed behind (tensions still ran kind of high, I guessed, about the Chamber of Secrets shit), among those who did stood only two other Slytherins: Malfoy, of course, and, to my surprise, Black. Not thinking too much of his presence there beyond that bit of surprise, I squeezed onto the bench across from him and next to Malfoy (we all fit into one table) just as Dippet started to rise for his little speech.

"All I heard was 'blah-blah-blah'," I said, digging right into a place of roast pork when Dippet sat down, and shaking my head.

Black scoffed and dug in too. "You have it in for those two, don't you?" he asked cocking his right eyebrow in reference to the two older wizards who sat further down to his right.

I scoffed, tearing a chunk out of the makeshift sandwich I'd made out of a dinner roll, and shrugged. "Meh," I said after swallowing the bite of food and eyed Riddle from the corner of my eye.

He scoffed and shook his head. "Quite."

I smirked and nudged him lightly in the side.

"So, Spain, tell me," Black began and I jerked my chin at him for elaboration. He continued, "_Why_ exactly is Death everything's final limit?" he asked, eyeing Riddle's medallion.

I paused in chewing another bite and then nodded. Once I'd swallowed the bite, I spoke again: "Very astute, Black. Good translation." He smirked, letting his fork hover over his plate and then gave me an 'I'm-waiting' look. "Alright. Well, it's everything's final limit because when you die," I paused dramatically, leaning in close as if about to tell him some big secret "you're _dead_." Then I straightened up and continued eating, Riddle shaking with silent laughter at my side.

Black smirked and said, "Well put, Spain. Well put."

I scoffed a laugh and shook my head. These two thought I didn't know why they didn't push the subject further. I let them have that...for now.

The feast went on in peace with Malfoy, Black, Riddle and I just messing around even with the kids from the other Houses.

"Ay, you mother – come here!" I growled, spitting like a cat, grabbing a handful of confetti, and stood up to chase the guys out of the Great Hall. The feast hadn't ended, but most of us really just didn't have time for food anymore. Everyone had gotten up and moved about around the dessert course and by now, apparently, had taken to throwing confetti in each other's mouths whenever the chance arose. I'd caught Malfoy a time or two, Black just once and had gotten to working on catching Riddle when he caught me (rather stupidly, mind you) by asking me the first letter of the alphabet. Grinning, he'd stood and sauntered out of the Hall, followed by Black and Malfoy who laughed their pompous little asses off.

Still spitting confetti out of my mouth, I went after them and caught up on the fourth floor. But, rounding the same corner they turned, I saw only Riddle by some mirror. I blew one last piece of confetti out, smirked maliciously and walked to him with a bit of a strut. He just leaned casually against the wall next to the mirror and smirked right back.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, letting his smirk transform into an innocent smile as I approached.

I kept my smirk malicious and nodded. He tilted his head, his eyes downcast and let his smile fade sadly. It could have broken my heart had I not already seen him do this and thus only made me more determined. So, stepping right up to him, I let my smirk slip away too to seem sedated as I used my confetti free hand to tilt his face upward. "I might forgive you for a kiss, though."

His smile returned and he leaned in, his eyes half-lidded and glimmering and his lips parting just slightly. I smiled hugely and whipped my confetti hand upward to shove it right in his face. Or tried to, anyway. He, quicker than fucking lightning, grasped my wrist firmly but not roughly and turned my own hand on me, landing the confetti right in my face. "It's sort of offensive how easily you think you can deceive me, Thalia," he said, laughing.

Blowing confetti out again and blinking it out of my eyes, I glowered up at him. "You're mean, you know that?" I raked my hand through my hair and reiterated, "Really mean."

He snickered and pulled me swiftly upward for a kiss. I, unable to really hold up my waning resentment, deepened it and pressed myself a bit more into him. I could feel his chest expanding with every breath he took and, as I ran my hands up to the nape of his neck, the lithe, yet sinewy muscularity beneath his clothes. The shuddering I felt in my core at the recognition of this made me a bit nervous and I pulled back a bit to breathe deeply. He snickered again and kissed my forehead. "What do you say to a draw?"

I laughed breathily and shook my head. "You got me twice, Riddle. I'd call that a loss, but seeing as it's me who's losing, I'm not gonna."

He laughed and shook his head, stepping away from the wall. "Fine. Try your best to get back at me and we'll see what happens." Looping his arm around my waist, he now gestured to the mirror on the wall. "Until then, let's get going on those things I promised to show you around here."

I smirked at the mirror and then up at him. "Hidden room?"

"Secret passageway."

"Uuu," I uttered and let him guide me.

The rest of the week went on this way. We'd start our days off together at breakfast, hanging out and talking, either at the Gryffindor table or the Slytherin table. It all depended on who made it to the Great Hall first. Usually, however, I made it down last because Riddle and I would stay up really late (until about four or five in the morning) and I'd have to join them all at the Slytherin ranks. It didn't faze me, though. I just sat with the three of them, ate, and then, when we'd get bored, we'd go off to do one of three things: check out the castle's hidden rooms, most of which they'd already seen and I pretended to not know existed for the benefit of all of us, really; follow the secret passages that they'd discovered already, though we reserved that mostly for the night explorations seeing as we didn't fancy getting caught; or homework, which only got added to this list because we did eventually have to do that shit.

But, the constant remained all of us together. Only once, when we'd lost track of time in the library after finishing whatever we'd designated for that day, did Riddle discretely remind the other two that they had something to do in their common room just then. I knew exactly what they 'had to do', but didn't say anything. Again, my decision to not change Riddle until later kicking in, told me to let him conduct his Knights of Walpurgis slash Death Eater meetings in peace because I no longer feared the very real harm that could come from joining or forming a club. I even played around with the idea of maybe not feeling so disgusted with the possibility of him tattooing me with his Dark Mark. But I hadn't gotten that far yet. I just really enjoyed the down time, you know. Hanging with Riddle and his friends as a group – actually _fitting in_ with them – felt completely right and I really enjoyed spending those days with them, especially since I kind of had no one else around here. But I still, of course, anticipated the hour when Black and Malfoy would yawn (at about two in the morning) and announce that they would head off to bed and see us tomorrow.

I mean, don't get me wrong. Riddle and I don't get too much into the PDA and fluffy shit. We kiss, yes, and we hold hands and yeah, we even get down to just holding each other or leaning on each other. But we _do not_ overdo this shit. Like I've said before, I won't turn into _that_ girl. I refuse to. But, I will stake my claim. Riddle's arms marked my spot, his hands my security blanket, and his lips my link to another world. Malfoy and Black knew this and, not surprisingly (seeing as I think Riddle would probably murder them if they said anything), respected this. But I didn't feel the need, and neither did Riddle obviously, to parade this all about the school.

Nevertheless, when we had our moments alone, we could do whatever the hell we wanted. No, no sex yet and not until I felt ready. I know. You probably think that since I've already done this six times, I should feel ready. But, in all honesty, I don't. Not yet. But that never came into discussion with us. Riddle, as much of a Casanova and downright player as I'd pictured him, never even went further than a French kiss with me. He showed me the utmost respect. Well, actually he felt that staying out so late kind of encroached on that respect and thus would insist of taking me back to the Tower before the sun rose. But trust me, he never did anything wrong. In fact (and I hate to admit it because of the desperation behind it), he always left me wanting a bit more, but I never really said anything because, well, technically…this doesn't have the stamp of authenticity, if you know what I mean. I had no right asking him to stay with me longer, even in this outdated mien, because nothing had 'Official' status. So, come New Year's Eve, I'd decided that I needed to get that stamp now or that I never would….

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><p>All throughout dinner, I kept yawning and resting my head on my hand sleepily. I'd nodded off, apparently, between dinner and dessert and when it ended, I stood quickly, saying that I only wanted to sleep. That visibly ticked Riddle off some ("Alright. Well, good night," he'd said stiffly) and that made me happy. Suppressing a yawn, I bent down, supporting myself on the table, and kissed him. "Happy New Year. I'll see you."<p>

Later that night at about a half past eleven, I checked off the things I'd need for this, muttering hurriedly to myself: "Talk to the elves? Check. Piss Riddle off a bit? Check. Transfigure that dress half to death? Check. Present? Check…." I pulled on the shoes he'd bought me and slipped on the dress that had survived its last transfiguration. _I'm so gonna need a new one after this_. I stood, checking myself in the mirror and grimaced. Perhaps I'd taken a bit too much off the skirt…and maybe I shouldn't have massacred the bodice into nothing but a backless, over the neck, plunging v-line that went down right past the cleavage area. _Ah, well, too late now_. I'd tried my best (Emily really was better at this than me), and now I just had to see how Riddle liked it. I'd also tried to repeat what Emily had done with my hair the night I went to Slughorn's first dinner party with Riddle, but failed. I ended up just leaving it down in the curly, flouncy mess I'd made of it. It at least had body to it, albeit not much else.

Turning away from the scared image of myself in the mirror, I picked up Riddle's gift and booked it past the little party in the common room with the remaining Gryffindors (Dippet had said we could have our own little celebrations if we so chose), and down to the kitchens to get the last piece of this surprise. At twenty to '43, I ran as fast as I could, trying not to trip or drop anything, into the dark and empty Great Hall and over to the table where I'd left Riddle earlier. Breathing laboriously, I lit the candle that the elves had stuck in the flan I'd asked them to make for him (I'm Spanish, sue me) and positioned myself: I stood at the very seat I'd vacated earlier with the flan in my hands, his gift on the table, and facing the doorway to the marble staircase.

The candle could only cast its light a few feet around me, so I felt a bit freaked out there in the dark with little halos of light shining in the edges of my vision caused by the contrast of the brightness of the candle and the darkness of the room. But, thinking of my little plan took my mind off of that. When I'd bent down to kiss Riddle at dinner, I slipped a noted under his plate for him that read: _meet me at the light at fifteen to 1943 in the place where I ticked you off tonight_. I know, not my best work or even anyone's best work for that matter, but I figured it would pique his interest seeing as he really did get ticked off (he didn't kiss me back). Now, I just stood there and hoped he would show, as nervous as I'd felt the day I'd asked him out.

Vaguely entertaining the possibility of me passing out again, I wondered if maybe I shouldn't do this…. It really did come off as extremely bold of me to do something like this and I no longer felt sure of it. Maybe he'd get angry at some girl he kissed a few times cornering him and demanding authentication of the relationship. Maybe I'd gotten this love written in the stars thing wrong. Maybe I just thought I loved Riddle and actually _did_ get influenced by the memories? With my heart pounding away against my ribs, I felt myself grow cold and stiff on the spot. There existed the very real possibility that I had just fucked this up…royally….

A brightening of the entrance to the Great Hall told me that I'd thought of all this entirely too late and that Riddle had heeded my note. I could only watch as his shadow engulfed form walked lithely toward me, his wand light barely touching him, and think: _The end came faster than I'd thought…._

"Thalia, what are you doing?" came his hushed demand. I instantly breathed easier and felt my face split into a wide smile. The worry in his voice shattered the layer of ice that had threatened to encrust me and warmed me through.

"You came," I uttered before I could stop myself and I heard the profound relief in my own voice. It kind of embarrassed me but I didn't really dwell on that too much.

He stepped right up to me so that his worry stricken features got cast into relief by the candlelight and nodded, shrugging. "Of course, I did." He narrowed his eyes and made a face as if this could not have seemed less surprising. "Why wouldn't I?"

I breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, calming my nerves. He definitely thought more of me than at least the rest these girls in the school. He wouldn't have shown up for them, I _felt_ more than I actually knew. He showed up for me and I could at least finish what I'd started for him. "Happy birthday, Tom," I said softly, smiling warmly up at him and lifting the flan a bit to get the candle closer to him.

He just stared for a few seconds at the sweet and then past it at me, a hard to read look settling in his glinting eyes. The candlelight bouncing off of them gave him a slightly deranged look, but past that I could see, if I looked hard enough and shut my racing thoughts up long enough, the years of insecurity, pain and sadness all whirling like a massive tornado within him. I remembered his dead mother, Merope Gaunt, who'd let herself die just an hour after giving birth to her baby boy. I remembered Tom Riddle, the wealthy Muggle who'd never looked for his abandoned, pregnant wife or bothered himself over his son. I remembered hearing about young Tom Marvolo Riddle, sitting on his iron bedstead, staring out the window on one New Year's Eve and wondering if the matrons would excuse his bad behavior just this once for his birthday. I remembered Tom Marvolo Riddle at sixteen, standing in his room at the orphanage with tears shining in his eyes and with his teeth gritted as he raked his hands through his hair and roared his rage to the four walls. I remembered, too, leaving that room that night and refusing to talk to him for two days because he'd murdered his family. I remembered my own weakness in the face of the young man who needed me to help him through the worst part of his suffering. I remembered and, looking deep into his black eyes now in this moment, swore to never abandon him again.

"Make a wish," I urged quietly, stepping even closer to him.

He continued to stare for a bit more and then, with the tiniest twitch of his cheek, he blew out the candle. We didn't get cast into total darkness, thanks to his wand, but the loss of the nearest source of light did cast his features into deeper and more eerie relief. "How did you know?" he asked finally when I'd smiled and moved to put the flan down on the table.

I straightened up, taking up his gift, and handed it to him wordlessly.

"Well?" he urged, taking the slip of parchment between his fingers.

I raised my eyebrows and nodded once at the parchment, again wordlessly.

He sighed in frustration and read the slip aloud: "'Get out of jail free card'…. What?"

I sighed, frustrated as well. "Sit with me," I said, sitting on the bench. He sat too, laying the parchment next to the flan whose candle still smoldered a bit. "Tom, I…" I inhaled deeply and held the breath for a moment, trying to calm myself. It is, after all, very difficult to ask a psychopath to be your boyfriend. "I know it's your birthday because…well, Riddle, honestly, what did you expect?" He eyed me cagily but said nothing. So, sighing, I tried again. "Look, the card is for when you finally fuck up in your little perfection thing that you have going on and end up in Boyfriend Jail."

His eyes narrowed momentarily and I thought he'd smack me for my stupidity. But, no, he didn't. After a bit of incredulous staring, he scoffed and picked the slip of parchment back up. "Boyfriend Jail, huh?" I smirked and nodded quietly. He smirked back and cocked an eyebrow questioningly. "Is this your way of labeling us?" he asked sarcastically.

I swallowed hard but nodded and answered in an equally sarcastic tone. "I deserve a label, I think."

His smirk softened then and he nodded. "You definitely do…." For a moment, he just looked at me with a familiar softness in his eyes that I hadn't seen yet in this circuit. "Thalia, you were never in any danger of being another…well, just another girl," he told me softly, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "I never meant for you to feel like you ever would be."

I shook my head and pulled his hand to my cheek, nuzzling it softly. "I know, I just…."

He smiled warmly. "I know," he said quietly and, deep within me, I knew that he did. "I guess I should make this indisputably official, right?"

I laughed a bit weakly, but nodded. "I guess you should."

He smiled and, pulling my hand back to his lips and kissing it two, three and four times, asked, "Thalia, do you want to go steady with me?"

The old fashion tine of his words blended so well with the warm, almost sultry look in his eyes and I could only nod just then. After another kiss on the already sensitive now hyper-sensitive skin of my hand, I broke free of the enchantment he'd laid on me and said, "I do."

"You have no idea how much I've been wanting to hear that," he said, laughing a bit nervously.

I shook my head. "I really don't but it can't be more than I have."

He smiled that half-smile of his and kissed my hand again before holding up the slip of parchment. "I'll try to never need this…I swear."

The softness of his voice pierced my heart like no lance could and it began to bleed for him. I believed him – believed the shine of his eyes and the sweetness of his words. Of course I knew better than to do this but came nowhere near caring just then. I leaned in and kissed his pale knuckles softly before pressing my forehead to his and letting him pull me close to him.

"You look beautiful, by the way. I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier. I was a bit preoccupied," he said quietly into my hair and I felt his fingers lightly tracing the curvature of my back.

I sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso. "Thank you."

"You still haven't answered my question, you know," he said matter-of-factly. He placed two fingers under my chin and tilted my face up to his. "How did you know today is my birthday?"

I smirked. "I'm you girlfriend, Riddle," I said, feigning seriousness. "I'm _supposed_ to know these things. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't?"

He scoffed a laugh and shook his head just as the clock struck midnight. He bit his lip as he pulled me, if possible, even tighter to him and then whispered, "Happy New Year, love."

"Happy New Year," I said hurriedly as he closed the space between us once more….

* * *

><p>"So, it's official," commented Black on the day before term would start again. "We're actually getting our asses handed to us by Hufflepuff, aren't we?"<p>

I scoffed, feeling myself bounce a bit on Riddle's chest as he too scoffed, and shook my head. "I can't believe that shit is happening." I turned the page of the textbook on the table and checked one of Riddle's sources against it before continuing. "It's just ten points though. Beat Ravenclaw and you'll be up by a lot more than just ten."

Black shrugged solemnly. "I guess." He eyed us mischievously across the table and asked, "So, what's up with you two? Have you broken the news to Erickson's girlfriend yet?"

"Broken _what_ news to Erickson's girlfriend?" came a painfully familiar voice and angry tone.

"Here we go," I said, not even looking up from Riddle's essay. I picked a piece of bacon off of the plate Riddle and I had picked at periodically this morning and bit a piece off, continuing to read and ignoring the stiffening of Riddle's torso against my back.

"Thali?" came a softer, more timid voice. "Tom?"

I heard Riddle release a frustrated breath and then felt him tug gently at my sleeve. Then, I too released a frustrated breath and put the parchment down to see the three people behind Black properly. "Hey," I said shortly.

"Hey," said Mike. "How was your holiday?"

"Really good. Thanks for asking."

"Thali, what did he mean by that?" Emily asked, stepping forward and out of Eliot's embrace.

Glowering at them all for a moment, I debated whether or not to speak. _They'd have found out anyway tomorrow…they just showed up early…. Right…._ With a look at Riddle, who stared coldly at Mike and Eliot, I decided not to say anything. "I, uh, have to go change, okay?" I said quietly to him.

He nodded and released me from his own embrace.

I swung my left leg over the bench, pushed myself gently off of Riddle's chest and stood. With another blank look at the three people I dreaded having to see again, I felt that, even if I didn't want to speak to them, I should at least answer Emily's question. So, I bent down and kissed Riddle softly, slowly, deliberately. Time seemed to freeze then with so much tension impregnating the air all around me and when I pulled back and began to walk away from the table, I saw said tension converting itself into shock, fear and pain in Mike's eyes….

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><p>sine labore nihil<em>* - <em>without work, nothing


	15. Shaken Faith, Sealed Destiny

**A/N: **So, I wasn't so bad updating this time, right? I'd like to think I wasn't xD. Anyways, to those of you who reviewed and alerted on the last chappie, GRACIAS! You guys always make my day, you know? **FadedSunset**, I'm not a stalker, I promise! lol it's just that I noticed that one of the reviews you'd actually signed in for had changed to FadedSunset but I couldn't be sure so I asked jejeje. Anyway, yeah go ahead and add this fic to your list because I'll never give up on this one (or any that follow *hint: three guesses what this means). I love this fic too much to give up on it. Like I said, even if I got no reviews or adds or alerts or anything, I'd keep writing it. **mspstar97**, wow those are some huge compliments (addiction to the point of profile creation and love of relationships equal awesomeness) for me and may I say, thank you and thank you and thank you again! I'm so happy you're loving this fic and the relationship I've woven for these two messed up kids (cuz I know Thalia's messed up, the poor girl, but she's trying with what she has). I really hope you keep reading even with my uber long chapters and I'll try to update faster. Anyways, this chapter...hmm... let's just say half the title won't make sense until later and you'll probably hate me a bit by the end. ENJOY! =) oh and you know what to do even if you hate me for this :P

Ah, also, I've upgraded the rating because I want to be sure I'm covered for later chapters. Again, ENJOY!

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Fourteen: _Shaken Faith, Sealed Destiny_**

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><p><em>"Jealousy is both reasonable and belongs to reasonable men, while envy is base and belongs to the base, for the one makes himself get good things by jealousy, while the other does not allow his neighbor to have them through envy." – Aristotle<em>

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><p>"Wait!" Mike shouted at me as I passed him and the others and then latched his fingers around my forearm, effectively stopping me in my tracks.<p>

Instantly, Riddle and Black got to their feet and whipped their wands out, snarls at both their mouths. Emily gasped and stepped backward toward Eliot and away from the oncoming brawl while he just glowered at the scene. I can't say for sure, but I guessed that the last few seconds had ripped apart Eliot's final nerves along with a few of mine. With Emily having sounded so…hurt, he confirmed that his girlfriend continues to hold a burning candle for Riddle. The look on her face when I stood again after kissing Riddle had sent fire up my spine, but not as much as Mike's move to hold me back. He'd dared to make me stay here a minute longer when I didn't want to. Not even Riddle had dared to do that shit.

Sucking my teeth, I yanked my arm out of Mike's grip and called, "Chill!" to Black and Riddle, not needing a scene much less detention. They seemed to not hear me, though, so I spoke again. "_Chill_!" I practically barked at Black, who glared at me but lowered his wand all the same. "Not today," I said softly, blocking Riddle as he started over toward Mike and laid my hand gently on his arm. He looked down at me with his eyes set angrily and severely darkened, clenching his jaw tight. I gave him an apologetic look but squeezed his arm lightly in thanks as he came to a stop before turning back to Mike. "What do you want?"

He just stared at us for a few seconds, seeming not quite flummoxed yet not quite like he understood what he saw in front of him. Honestly, he looked like I did when I first heard his last name and realized that he would someday breed the specimen from whence would come the foul pug-faced bitch, Pansy Parkinson. He then nodded – acceptance of the odd behavior Riddle now exhibited, heeding a girl he could kill with his bare hands if he so wanted – and stepped forward toward us. "Look, I get it…. I really do and…and I just…I just wanna apologize, Riddle…."

_Well, that's new..._ I stared back at him and glared after a couple of seconds as he took another step forward.

"For?" Riddle asked in such an icy tone that even I felt it at the base of skull. A look up at him showed me that his face had taken on a severely impassive and stoic definition in such a way that made him look how he had on the very first day I'd met him; a statue of Perseus ready to do battle. And in the same manner as had happened to me on that day, I got the most horrible vibes from him that sincerely scared the shit bricks out of me. Suppressing a shudder, I turned back to Mike.

Mike, struggling either to formulate words or to keep a copious amount of unnecessary ones in, inhaled deeply, biting his lip, and then exhaled in a great _whoosh_. He'd just swallowed his pride. I recognized the herculean effort associated with choking back the insults and bile that threaten to rise when you see someone fucking up badly and want to do something but can't. I know how it burns inside. "For my behavior over the last few weeks and especially for what I said the night before we left," he said almost mechanically with a brittle quality to his voice that attempted to sink its teeth into my chest. He breathed deeply again and turned to me. "Thali, I'm so sorry…. I…I really never meant to hurt you."

He really didn't, I know. I know a lot about the young man who stood just a few feet from me. I know that the day he'd stunned me, he'd only meant to stop me to talk to me for a bit, but Emily had called Riddle and that pushed things a lot further than they needed to go. I knew that this apology had really geared itself more towards me than towards Riddle. I could safely say, if I analyzed this moment from the angle he'd taken after the first apology he'd given a few months back in the changing rooms, that he wanted to get back into my good graces out of genuine fear for me. I knew that Mike had seen us (me, leaned back against Riddle's chest and Riddle with his chin resting on my shoulder and his finger absently twirling a lock of my hair while his other arm rested possessively across my stomach) and pictured me drowning in some pool of fire, never to return again. He'd swallowed his pride to (in his eyes) try to rescue me from the Hell I'd just sentenced myself to. But he hates Riddle with every fiber of his existence and wishes nothing more than to harm him beyond repair. Granted, it comes from his heart _for me_ and had I come into this world as another witch and into this time period without a mission or simply never met Riddle, I'd have probably fallen in love with Mike by now. But I didn't. And I never will.

"I can hold grudges for a long time, Parkinson…even if he won't," I said with a tilt of the head toward Riddle and no more in my tone than ice. I heard Riddle scoff and then let my hand slip from his arm down to his hand and clasped it firmly. Mike just stared blankly at us.

Black's eyes travelled slowly between the two sides for a few seconds as he probably decided whether or not to say something to lessen the tension. But I knew – _decided _the mood would not lighten again when Emily sensed the end of this little conversation and slipped out of Eliot's arms again to come forward to Riddle.

"Happy belated Christmas and New Year, Tom," she said softly with a brittle smile as she stood on her tippy-toes and grasped his shoulders to hold herself steady while she kissed his cheek.

As I clenched my jaw tight to keep myself quiet, I vaguely mused on how much it actually hurt to hold so much spite in.

"Thank you. Likewise," he said stiffly and gently peeled her fingers off of his shoulders with his free hand.

She gave him a sort of resigned look that mixed with her weak smile and then went back to Eliot's side. He looked ready to vomit or explode. I couldn't decide.

I shook my head and laughed a throaty, cold laugh. "C'mon. Let's go practice, yeah?"

"That sounds best," Riddle answered, squeezing my hand gently with a look down at me. I didn't return his squeeze, just walked along with him and Black as we made our way around the other three and towards the entrance hall.

"You might as well save your energy," said Mike with a harsh sneer that seemed to want to turn into a snarl.

I swiveled my head to look back at him and cocked an eyebrow. "For?"

"_We_," he indicated himself, Eliot and me "have practice today too."

"You just got back not three hours ago. How can you have booked the field for practice already?" asked Black incredulously but smirking a bit. He found this completely entertaining.

Mike glared at him. "It'll be booked for after lunch," he said and then turned to me again. "You had better save your energy for that."

"Pssh," I scoffed, with a cold smirk. "Don't worry." I spared a cold stare for Emily as the next words spilled out of my mouth. "Unlike some, I'm not made of glass and can deal with" I turned again to Mike and smiled maliciously "_hours_ of strenuous activity."

I'd said it to hurt him, yes, and it shut him up. But honestly, I didn't want to do too much damage. Despite his obvious jealousy and aversion to anything to do with Riddle I know he only tries to protect me in his own warped kind of way. But he can't get too involved in this for his own good and shit like that will keep him away, hopefully. With one last scathing look at the trio, I continued on with the other two and out to the grounds. Black said something about us walking like snails and speed-walked past us. I didn't hear Riddle say a word all the way to the broom shed, but then again, I might not have even heard a bomb go off just then for all the blood rushing in my ears. I honestly couldn't wait to get up on my broom and maybe even beat on some bludgers to release some of my anger. I'd name the two bludgers Mike and Emily (hey, I try to be understanding, but I'm still human) and, if we had a third, I'd have christened it Eliot. _The douche bag can't even control his girl…._

Only when we got to the broom shed and he handed me my broom, did I notice Riddle's smirk. "What's up?" I asked him, my brows furrowed together in a supposedly questioning way, but I knew I looked angry.

He smiled crookedly at me as we walked out (Black had apparently taken the balls out onto the field already) and mounted our brooms. "You're adorable when you're jealous," he said, bringing his thumb up to trace my lower, apparently pouting lip and then kicked off hard, immediately speeding toward the field. I no longer felt quite as angry as before but I didn't feel all that calm either.

I too kicked off and caught up with him out at the hoops he'd started to circle and called out to him as we passed each other, circling in opposite directions, "I'm _not_ jealous!"

"Okay and I'm in Gryffindor!" he called back.

I laughed and bumped him lightly as we passed each other again.

Black flew up right in between us then, carrying the quaffle, and effectively forced us both into a jerking halt. "Son of a – damn it, Black, you're gonna kill me," I complained, glaring at him as I straightened myself out on my broom.

He gave me a bored look and then cocked an eyebrow. "Dramatic, much?"

I stuck my tongue out at him and snatched the quaffle out of the crook of his arm. "Warm-ups. Let's go." I ordered the both of them before turning to fly off toward the other end of the field.

"Yes, drill sergeant, ma'am!" they both called after undoubtedly sharing a smirk, flying alongside me and eliciting a chuckle from me. Then Riddle, still smirking, snatched the quaffle out of my arm and passed it to Black who didn't see me turning my broom to cut him off and had to swerve sharply to avoid colliding with me. This little slip up in concentration cost him the quaffle and, give or take seventy-five feet from the hoops at the other end, I leaned forward on my broom and flew past the two of them.

"You'd make a good Chaser," came Black's voice as he caught up with me fifty feet from the hoops and tried to snatch the quaffle away. But I pushed down on my broom, going into a spiraling dive to get away from him. I still had control of my broom and still held the quaffle tight to my stomach (which technically you shouldn't do unless you want to see your partially digested food again) as I descended into a straight down, perpendicular, oh-my-God-if-I-don't-pull-up-now-I'm-going-to-die free fall basically. Just as I yanked back and got the broom about ninety degrees into a one hundred and eighty degree line, Riddle came into view. He looked _pissed_.

"Give me that!" he hissed, snatching the quaffle in the moment I lost concentration because of the look on his face. Then he reached out and caught my broom handle only to yank it the rest of the way up so that it now leveled out. With a glinted glare he said in a low but stern voice, "You're going to kill yourself doing that. _Don't_." And he took off again, leaving me there, a bit shocked but more insulted and glaring at his back. He thought I didn't know how to handle myself on a broom, still thought of me as _just a girl_.

"Oh, it's on, babe," I said softly, sinisterly and took off after him. I made him my sole concentration as we continued with the warm-ups. He'd go to make a score and I'd swipe the quaffle in midair and take off toward the other end, both he and Black on my tail. The catch, though? Yeah, I didn't fly in a straight line or even a zigzagged line. No, I turned my broom into a cart on what probably felt like the biggest rollercoaster they've ever ridden. I curved up with a counterclockwise spin and turned my broom right into a short dive that pulled up into a perpendicular rise that gave way to an upside down reversal flight, which then turned downward again into a spiraling nosedive. Then, snickering at Black's sputtered curses, I pulled up just as I forced the broom into full speed and rose at what would look like an exponential curve if I'd have graphed it on a piece of graph paper toward the hoops at the other end and sent the bloody quaffle flying through the center ring. "Still alive, love," I said to Riddle, smirking as I tossed him the quaffle for his turn after doing this a few times.

He nodded, face like stone. "I see."

Black caught the quaffle when he threw it at him and zoomed off. I sighed inwardly. "I can't tell if you're pissed off because I disobeyed you or because I scored," I taunted, trying for some humor as I flew lazily alongside him toward Black.

"I'm not your father, Thalia, you don't need to _obey_ me," he said in a bored tone, an even more bored look on his face.

I grimaced and sucked in a theatrical hiss before asking, "So you're a sore loser?"

Yeah, that didn't help anything. He shot me a sideways glare and narrowed his eyes with a disgusted scoff. "Thalia, please, give me some credit. I have no problem admitting that you're a good player."

"Then?" I asked, getting as close to him as our shoulders and knees would allow. "Is it that I'm a female?"

He scoffed again. "No, actually, you're femininity, or lack thereof," he added scathingly but with a playful smirk that I narrowed my eyes at "doesn't bother me." He released a suffering sigh and turned a bit to me with a reluctantly pained look. "If you can believe it, you raging lunatic, I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Then don't watch the games," I said quicker than I'd meant to.

He narrowed his eyes again and shook his head disgustedly. "Right. That helps. Thanks, Espinoza."

I too released a suffering sigh before giving him softened look and then ramming my shoulder into his as roughly as I could, making him slip slightly off of his broom. "That's for telling me I'm not feminine!" I said loudly over his "Fuck!" as he caught himself and straightened out. "I thought you don't curse in front of ladies," I teased and then patted his shoulder before continuing, ignoring his vicious glare. "C'mon, Riddle, you've seen me faint, bleed and take a bludger to the pelvis and you survived." He glared some more but didn't say anything. "Look," I sighed "I'll try my best to not get hurt because believe it or not" I tilted my head and looked at him matter-of-factly "I don't like feeling pain." He scoffed and I smirked. "Yeah, masochism really isn't my thing." He gave an appraising look and I continued. "But you and I both know that, in Quidditch, I really can't promise anything."

He scoffed again and smirked. "Fine," he said. "Do your psychotic dives. They're likely to win you the cup anyway."

I smirked back and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."

"But," he said, laying his hand on top of mine, and with a warning tone. "If you get hurt, I'm going to lay into whomever is responsible and that includes you, Spain. Do I make myself clear?"

I snickered and nodded. "Crystal. Now, c'mon. Black looks like he's about to have a titty attack."

"A what?" he asked, giving me a look that seemed torn between scandalized and wanting to laugh.

I laughed and shook my head. "Nah, nah, nah, don't play coy with me, Riddle. I _know_ you have a scoundrel side." Smirking mischievously at him, I finished, "I like it."

His mouth twisted into a reluctant smirk as he leaned forward to speed up and I followed suit….

We practiced right up until lunch. It felt a bit weird to practice with them because Riddle had a different captaining style than Mike and it stayed as only the three of us out there. At one point, Black had suggested that Riddle get Malfoy out there as well, but as this practice had come spur-of-the-moment he figured that Malfoy could sit this one out. So, we just went on practicing maneuvers and formations that, in all honesty, turned out more difficult to carry out than I'd previously thought. I mentally cut Mike and Eliot a break for not perfecting the moves faster and decided to have more patience with them.

By the time I sat down to eat at the Gryffindor table (across from Eliot and Emily, whom Riddle had pointed out with a smirk before nudging me good-naturedly and telling me, in not so many words, to get over it), Mike had already gotten his uniform on and now strode over to us. "Hurry up and eat," he said coldly as he sat down next to me and dug into a plate of stew.

Rolling my eyes, I took a deep calming breath and then turned to Riddle, who'd turned to glare menacingly at Mike and had his hand in his pocket already. "I'm not that hungry. You want to come with me to get my uniform?" I asked him pointedly, tugging at his arm.

He tore his gaze reluctantly away from Mike and looked down at me with guarded eyes. "Fine," he said and stood up.

All the way up to the seventh floor, he didn't say a word to me and I didn't really feel like saying anything to him either. I knew I'd crossed his Bullshit threshold by stopping him for the second time today. But what could I do? Mike's jealousy, in my opinion, didn't automatically sentence him to Death by Hand of Riddle…even if I personally wanted to beat him senseless with a shoe.

Riddle waited for me by the portrait hole while I went up, showered quickly and changed into my uniform and when I came back out to meet him, still had a stiff kind of guarded look in his eyes. I sighed and held him back again as he started forward in stony silence.

"What, now I need your permission to _walk_?" he asked scathingly, sneering at me, and tugged his sleeve out of my grip.

"Are we seriously gonna have all of our fights in one day?" I spat back, hating the complaining tone my voice held.

He scoffed a cold laugh, shaking his head, and with a sneering smirk spat out, "It's your choice, Espinoza."

"Do I automatically become 'Espinoza' when you're annoyed with me?" I asked without thinking and then mentally kicked myself for how stupid it sounded when I heard myself.

But the look he gave me didn't seem like he thought it stupid of me to ask that. He blinked and, for a split second, his eyes seemed so wide and innocent but that quickly drained as he shook his head again and smirked. "Did I hurt your feelings, _love_?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You don't need to be sarcastic, Riddle."

"Ah, so I'm 'Riddle' now?"

"Are we _seriously_ doing this?" I asked, slipping into my own sarcasm in incredulity and then regretting it. I inhaled deeply and held the breath for a moment, pinching the bridge of my nose and waiting for him to answer anything other than a scoff. I went on when nothing came. "Look," I said, meeting his hardened gaze and keeping myself from recoiling. "I'm just trying to keep peace."

He sucked his teeth and raked his hand through his hair in frustration. "Thalia," he said after a moment of tense silence and looked me dead in the eyes. "I know you'd like for us all to get along and for things to just be that easy, but you knew it wouldn't be that way going in…. Remember our truce?"

Shifting my weight repeatedly from one foot to the other, I looked down at my feet but didn't answer. Of course, I remembered. The reason for the bloody thing had consisted of the very core of tradition here at Hogwarts: Slytherins and Gryffindors – NOT FRIENDS…much less boyfriend and girlfriend….

"Exactly," he said, his voice softening a bit, and came a bit closer to me. Gently, he stuck two fingers under my chin and lifted my face to meet his warm but troubled gaze. "I'm going to ask you again: can you deal with this without feeling too torn?" His features composed themselves stoically but there remained a slight tinge of worry in his eyes and that just…damn. No, he definitely hadn't declared his love for me and I couldn't say for sure that he would any time soon. Our relationship still hasn't reached that level and I suspect it won't for a while judging by this pre-mutual-break-up type speech. But that little tinge of worry held more power than even one of his kisses right now and revealed the truth behind his question. It constricted my throat and my poor, arrhythmia addled heart to the point of causing shortness of breath and not to mention making me want to cry.

Nodding, I took his hand in mine and brought it to my lips. "I'll be fine…. I'm sorry," I whispered into his hand and let him pull me into his arms.

"No need to apologize for being a good person, Espinoza, just for being kind of slow," he said, a lighter tone taking over and I laughed.

"Right," I said, still laughing a bit and nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck. I inhaled and released the breath in a sigh of contentedness. Then I groaned. "I don't wanna practice anymore," I complained into his neck and he chuckled.

"Suck it up," he said, shifting us so that his arm lay over my shoulder and started walking. "Besides, today is probably your last practice for a while." I gave him a 'huh?' look and he elaborated. "We play Ravenclaw in a couple of weeks. I'm booking the pitch solid."

* * *

><p>Who would've thought that "I'm booking the pitch solid" meant that all bloody Hell would break loose?<p>

Okay, so maybe that exaggerates this situation to a point past where it had actually escalated to, but _come on!_ The term started and so did the bullshit: Homework, classwork, O.W.L.s pending, regular fucking tests every day to prepare for the O.W.L.s, every God damned person in the halls putting their two cents in about Riddle and me! Alright, so, Slytherins (surprisingly and yet no so surprisingly) kept their traps shut, but the rest of the school didn't. ("Another one bites the dust," McGonagall said to me with a smirk. That was the nicest of the comments.) Do you know how badly I wanted to curse my own ears off by the second morning? Riddle convinced me to not do that when I confessed the urge to do so right before History of Magic that day ("Do it and I'll just regrow them into house-elf size and put a protective charm on them so you can't do it again."). So I just took to casting a Stinging Jinx on every fifth or sixth person to talk shit. Riddle found this most entertaining and kept me out of detention, which would have served as the cherry on top had the rest of the week gone even the slightest bit better….

Mike's attitude toward me didn't improve in the slightest. In fact, it got much, much worse starting that same day that we supposedly had to practice. He'd spent the whole of that stretch berating me with bullshit calls ("I want a ten minute catch! Hurry the fuck up!" "Fly straighter!" "Stay on your broom – hasn't Riddle taught you how to keep something between your legs?"). The days following that one (conveniently when Riddle wasn't with me due to Prefect duties, practices or plain old calls of nature) played off of those bits and got more disrespectful by the comment. It got to the point where even Malfoy and Lestrange said something about it.

"You'd think someone of Pure-blood would have a bit more class when talking to a lady," Lestrange said with a bored drone, skimming through the pages of a textbook. "Or at least with his own team mate."

"Apparently, not," Malfoy answered with an odd stare in Mike's direction as we waited for Riddle outside of Potions.

It didn't stop there, though. Mike's mouthing off earned him even a bit from Eliot, who apparently had had enough by Friday of the first week.

"Mike, that's it, mate. Stop," he said with tight tone. Mike had just purposely knocked roughly into my shoulder as I tried to study a bit and surreptitiously watch the Slytherins practice from the window, causing me to drop my papers everywhere. Eliot ducked down and picked up the papers for me, organizing them as best as he could, and handed them to me without another word. "Enough," he reiterated to Mike, who just glared at him, and then went up to his dormitory in silence.

Part of me felt thankful toward Eliot for trying to stick up for me because I could appreciate how much strength that took – standing up to your best friend. But a bigger, angrier and more volatile part wanted to smack him for pushing Mike further along. Mike, apparently unable to handle getting singled out by his best friend, turned downright vicious toward me.

The day after Eliot had told him to cool it, I headed to the kitchens because I'd missed dinner and decided to use the moving staircase route. As I neared the last one, Mike jumped out from behind a suit of armor, brandishing his wand and shouting, "_Impedimenta_!" and sent me falling backward onto the steps. He'd stationed himself at the foot of the moving staircase, apparently and waited for me. But he'd timed it perfectly. The stairs began to shift then and I, still unable to balance myself, continued to slip downward as the stairs moved through the air. I ended up dangling from the last pole beneath the railing of the staircase (floors above the ground) until it moved back into place at another landing. Here, I heaved myself up onto and over the railing and stepped, shakily, onto that landing.

I decided to avoid him after that. As much as it embarrasses me to admit, he actually pulled a couple of terrified tears out of me and, that night, Eliot bore witness to that.

"What happened?" I heard him ask and then felt him sit down on the floor next to me.

I'd gone down when I knew the common room would empty out and had stayed there until the last person went to bed at around two in the morning. Then, alone in front of the dying embers in the fireplace, I broke down. Letting all the fear that had surged through me as I dangled perilously from the stairs earlier take over me, I cried…a lot. And not just because of Mike but because of Eliot and Emily and Riddle and practically anyone I'd come into contact with that week. So much shit had happened in just six days (besides Mike and his shitty attitude) that I couldn't process it properly – hadn't had time to. I just needed a break, you know? I felt tired and…very much alone.

I mean, yeah, I had Riddle and Black and even Malfoy and Lestrange, but not as much I'd have liked…or much as I apparently needed, judging by my mental breakdown. His near constant training schedule allowed for me to spend time with Riddle only during our classes together and these quickly gave way to classwork, studying, homework, studying, studying, studying, oh, and more studying with a healthy portion of Emily.

At first, she'd only come up to us during our classes together to ask him for help with those subjects and I didn't mind. Half the shit that we learned I needed to read over twice myself. But then this turned into an everyday, every subject thing. "Sorry, Thalia, I just really can't understand this inferi stuff." "Sorry, Thalia, I have to steal him away for a bit so he can explain to me this bit about transfiguring mammals." "I'll just be a few minutes with him right here, Thali, going over the Goblin Wars" "Tom, could you explain the Summoning Charm to me?" "Tom, could you help me with Astronomy and then maybe with Divination? Oh and Arithmancy is a bit unclear as well." "Tom, what is gillyweed?" "Tom, how do you spell 'Piccadilly?" "Tom, how do I send a message with my Patronus?"

Yeah, she just completely stopped trying and I didn't even feel like saying anything. What could I say? "Hey, Riddle, do you know that Emily's just being a little bitch?" Somehow, I don't think he'd appreciate that what with how I've acted out toward him lately. See, apart from not trying at all anymore with her schooling, Emily (these last few days) had taken to trying to, in her own weird way, show me up in front of Riddle in the role of Submissive Girlfriend. She'd go out of her way to serve him his breakfast and morning juice every fucking day and the same thing at lunch and dinner – even when he went to sit with the Slytherins before they'd head out for practice. She'd do this with the biggest fucking smile and say, "Thalia, this is your job. How could you not want to cater to such a brilliant person?"

That shit disgusted me like you wouldn't believe and, seeing as I would never stoop to the level of maid in a relationship, I guess she had succeeded in showing me up. I mean, come on: Riddle usually did eat the food and give his thanks with a gracious smile. What else _could_ I think? So, I'd just eat in silence and barely respond to his questions and after a couple of days just flat out ignored him. Childish, I know. I don't deny it. But who cares? With all the shit I've gone through this week, I deserve a few childish moments. Eliot, too, honestly.

"Mike happened," I answered feebly, wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my thermal top and facing him. I explained briefly what happened with the staircase and when I'd finished, he just sat there, mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed angrily.

"What's _wrong_ with him?" he eventually pushed out, eyes reflecting his disgust.

I nodded and then shrugged, expelling a scoff that sounded like I had a head cold. "He's a bloody maniac."

"Did you tell Riddle?"

I actually laughed then. "_When_?"

He grimaced and shook his head as if wanting to _tsk_. Then with a sigh, he pulled a roll of parchment he'd left on the coffee table behind us to himself and asked, "Do you know if Emily was with him today?"

There went the pit of my stomach. It felt as though it had completely fallen out at his words. I nodded and said, "Probably was…she's always with him." Nothing but the truth. Emily had seriously neglected Eliot this week. Riddle at least tried to look for me in the Great Hall every morning and kept trying to talk to me (even in class sometimes) until today that he didn't even show up to any meal that I know of. But Emily…I don't know how she planned to explain her recent behavior. I guess she wouldn't have to. Eliot never bothered asking her why she acted this way with him. "You're too understanding toward her, you know," I blurted out as I watched him stare into the dying embers.

He looked at me cagily for a minute before nodding. "I know." He scoffed and knocked my knee lightly with his knuckles. "Maybe I should ignore her like you're doing Riddle?"

I laughed softly and answered, "Maybe, but seeing as I haven't even seen him today, then, maybe not."

He laughed and shook his head saying matter-of-factly, "Well, he was training all day today, wasn't he?" before returning to gazing into the fireplace. I shrugged and we stayed like this for a bit before he broke the aching silence again. "I'll report Mike if you want me to," he said softly, laying his hand on my knee.

Tearing my gaze from the fireplace, I laid my hand on his and shook my head. "I won't ask you to do that," I told him, hearing the frailty in my own voice. "It's not right."

"It's not right that he could have killed you, Thali."

I shrugged and gave a half-grimacing, half-indifferent look his way. "Shit happens, Eliot. Anyway, he'll get over it soon enough." I felt my stomach clench a bit because somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered that I almost spoke about what had happened in previous circuits. But other than that, the feeling went unnoticed and I stood up, holding a hand out to Eliot.

He took my hand and pulled himself to his feet, giving an awkward smile. "I haven't been such a great friend either, have I?"

"Forget it, Eliot," I said smiling weakly and shaking my head.

He gave a tightlipped smile and squeezed my hand. "I'll talk to Mike again – see if that cools him off a bit."

I almost protested but the look in his eyes – a sincerely troubled one – made me stop myself. Nodding, I said, "Okay, thanks. I'll, uh, see if I can get Emily alone for a bit and ask her what's up."

He nodded and, with another squeeze of my hand, stalked to the boys' staircase.

_Amazing, isn't it? …What? …How severely pain and silence in the face of that pain can alter some people…. Because he used to be happy? …Yeah, and so did you…._

* * *

><p>The Realist (yeah, she gets a capital 'R' now seeing as she's been mostly right about all the shit I've been stupid about) had a point. My Happy Meter, albeit permanently altered given my life situation (Time Traveler in love with a bloody murderer and whatnot), had never dropped so low as it had recently – under normal circumstances, of course. So, in the name of my own happiness, I dealt. I stood the fuck up and walked my own damn talk.<p>

"Thalia, you should make sure he eats a good breakfast every day," Emily began the Monday of the second week leading up to the game, spooning some eggs onto Riddle's plate as he eyed me cagily.

I still didn't direct a single word to him and he didn't even bother saying much else other than "good morning" to me either. So we evened out, but we all know that gets nowhere near 'good enough' for me.

"A man like him needs his strength," she gushed, pouring him a goblet of pumpkin juice.

I smirked and nodded, standing from the table. "You're right," I told her as Eliot kissed her cheek and seated himself between her and some fourth year kid. I walked over to him, laid my hands on his shoulders and said, "Ah, ah, ah," effectively stopping him from reaching for his preferred cereal. "You're eating solid today, Eliot. _I'll_ make sure of it." With that, I began to load his plate up with a variety of foods that made up a healthy, hearty breakfast: eggs with cheese grated on top, buttered toast, crispy bacon, some raspberries on top of a little egg-cup full of yogurt. I could feel all six of their eyes on me and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking too widely as I finished off pouring him a goblet full of pumpkin juice. "There," I said, smilingly and patted him on the shoulder. "Eat up because a man like you needs his strength."

Hey, I never said my walk or talk had anything to do with acting like an adult. Besides, I'm only fifteen. Leave me alone.

"Um, Thalia, you don't need to –" Emily began, furrowing her brow as she watched Eliot shrug and dig in, with red patches forming on her cheeks.

I waved my hands at her, dismissing the thought. "Pish-posh, Emily. I'm _happy_ to do it," I said before giving her a wide, toothy smile and stalking off. All the way out of the Hall, I could still feel two pairs of eyes on me….

* * *

><p>"Hey," Riddle said to me a couple of nights later in the library as we bumped into each other in the N's of the Defensive Magic aisle.<p>

I spared him a quick once over before answering, "Hey," in as guarded a tone as he'd done. I wanted to throw my arms around him, squeeze him to me as hard as I could and kiss him all over because, unfortunately (but as planned), I hadn't seen him since the morning I served Eliot breakfast. But I couldn't. That bit didn't go anywhere in my plan. So, tearing my gaze from his, I turned back to the shelf I'd begun to peruse when he showed up and continued my search for a book on nonverbal spells.

"Fucking child," he muttered behind me and shoved a book back into a random spot on the shelf. He turned to walk out of the aisle, but I stepped in front of him.

"Excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear," I began with a sarcastic smile and tilt of the head. "Did you just call me a fucking child?"

He twisted his mouth into a sarcastic half-smirk and cocked an eyebrow. "You're talking to me now?"

I shrugged. "It was just a question. You don't need to answer me." Turning back to the shelf I'd turned from, I listened hard and pretended to peruse again.

Behind me, Riddle stayed silent for a few seconds, probably mustering my actions and me as a whole, and then released a steady hissing stream of laughter. Both of his hands then appeared on either side of me, latching onto the shelves I faced. "Yes, Espinoza, you're a fucking child," he whispered into my left ear, his warm breath tickling my cheek and sending tingles up and down my spine along with his profanity. (As stupid as it sounds, I really did like his new self-emancipation in what he'd previously deemed 'rough language'. On him, it was somehow really becoming if not at least really sexy.)

Inhaling deeply and pulling a book out of the shelf level with my waist, I turned to face him. His menacing stance did nothing but make me revel in the proximity of this position. "Really?"

He nodded and let his eyes rove over my face, still smirking a bit from his last comment.

Swiftly, I raised the book I'd pulled up to his face and smacked him on the forehead with it. "If I don't get to see you when I want, then you can't see me when you want," I told him and snickered slightly at the sight of him shutting his eyes and taking a deep, calming breath.

When he opened his eyes again, he took the book out of my hands and laid it on one of the shelves behind me. "What's this about you not getting to see me when you want?" he asked, looking down at me again, this time with a softer tone. "You've been looking it at me, _wordlessly_, for almost two weeks and then _you_ disappeared on me."

The accusation in his tone made me want to smile. But again, I couldn't. So, I just shrugged indifferently and looked away. I know, I know. But I felt like only this would make him see clearly….

He stared at the side of my face a bit longer and then released a frustrated sounding puff of air, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Thalia," he muttered in an aggrieved tone and looked back up at me just as I returned my gaze to him. His overall stance had leaked away its previous menacing feel and imbibed a more tense and rigid feel. "Talk to me." His tone, completely softened, now held a sort of plea in it and his eyes reflected a very much defined confusion mixed with a highlighted tinge of worry. "What are you doing? Look, if you're angry with me about something, fine. But _tell me_ what it is I've done," he said, his worry tinged eyes boring into mine. "Don't just stop talking to me or start cutting classes. Have you lost your bloody mind?" he asked, injecting incredulity into both his tone and gaze.

I gazed back at him, trying to decipher if I could finally go forward without risking my feeling stupid later. His expectantly set features told me that I could. "Not exactly," I murmured and let my gaze fall to my hands, which I'd clasped over my stomach.

A few seconds' silence passed and then he asked softly, "So, what is it, Thalia?" leaning in a bit so that his warm breath swept over my cheeks.

I looked up at him and let what I felt inside reflect itself in my eyes, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't think me childish again.

He read me for a while, eyes lingering on mine for a bit and then searching my face for something. I knew he'd found it when our eyes locked again and his held a smoldering light in them. "I miss you too, you know," he said barely above a whisper and brought a hand down to stroke my cheek affectionately, gently.

Almost sighing in relief, I leaned into his touch. Have you ever slept over at someone's house and, no matter how much you like this person, you just can't wait to get back into your own room and bed after a while? You know that feeling when you finally do? Yeah, this right here – ten times better. The warmth of the backs of his fingers sliding gently, lazily on my cheek rendered me very weak-kneed and, either shamelessly or shamefully (I'll decide later) blank-minded.

"Did you think I didn't?" he asked me, breaking into my reverie and smirking brokenly down at me.

I pulled my mouth to one side in a half-grimace and looked down again. "Well, you sure as hell didn't look like it eating all that food," I said with a slightly snide tone.

He breathed a soft laugh and quickly kissed my forehead. "You're too cute when you're jealous."

"Mhmm," I uttered, looking up at his smirking face. "And you're just plum struck dumb when you're jealous, aren't you?"

His smirk faltered theatrically. "Is that what you meant to do the other day with Eliot?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and spat, "Don't be an ass, yeah?" His smirk returned to its full intensity and I continued, "And no, that was actually more for Emily than you."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "I see." He kept smirking, this little shit.

"I knew you didn't miss me," I said and lightly, melodramatically shoved him away, eliciting a throaty laugh from him before he trapped me in his embrace.

"Yes, I did, you stubborn little pain in my ass," he murmured into my hair as he squeezed me so tight to him that I could barely breath. I struggled a bit against him, but gave up when I felt the kisses he placed in quick succession on my cheek. When he stopped, he pulled back slightly to look me in the eyes with an odd sort of nostalgia-like gleam in his. "Like you wouldn't – and don't, obviously – believe…."

With my mouth pulling into a reluctant smile and remembering his words from another time, I pushed myself onto my toes and freed my hands a bit to take his face between them. Staring deep into his eyes, still smiling, I pressed my forehead against his and after a few seconds like this pulled away and nodded. "Fine…I believe you," I told him with a smirk that turned full on smile as he leaned in to kiss me….

An hour later, we still hadn't separated and had ended up sitting on the floor in the furthest corner from the entrance of the library, just talking.

"I had Black sit in for me today on the pitch," he told me when I asked him why he hadn't torn himself from me to go train today. "Apart from wanting to use tonight to try to find out what the hell had happened to you from you directly, I just needed a break. Between training, all this prep for the O.W.L.s, rounds, tutoring and other miscellaneous things, I'm just tired, you know?"

I nodded, careful not to bump his chin with the top of my head and shut my eyes for a bit. 'Tutoring' and 'other miscellaneous things', huh? He might as well just say 'Emily' and 'meetings to take over the world', but I digress. "But what do you mean from me directly?"

"I had a little talk with Eliot the day you decided he needed to be better fed than your boyfriend." I snickered and shifted upward a bit in his arms to look him in the eyes. He had a sort of resentful tint to his stare but other than that he seemed fine as he continued, "He told me about what Parkinson did to you." I grimaced. "Yeah, we'll talk a bit more about that, you and I, when I'm not so prone to checking to see if you still have a brain." I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, he told me how things had really gotten to you and then you went and disappeared on me. So, I just put two and two together."

"Really? And what did you get?"

"I got: 'Thalia's a fucking child sometimes'," he scolded, fixing me with a stern glare that I merely cocked an eyebrow at. "Thalia, this is new to me too, alright?" he said, shifting a bit so that his back now leaned straight up against the wall. His eyes bore into mine again but now with a somewhat serious shine. "I don't need to go into details, but we both know that relationships aren't my strong suit," he said softly to me and I nodded, listening, absorbing the juxtaposition of his soft tone and stern stare. "Just don't ever think that I don't have time for you, love, please." Pressing his forehead against mine, he lightly brushed his lips against mine. "If something's wrong, tell me…and we'll figure it out together, okay?"

I nodded, careful to not break the contact between us and left a series of small, soft kisses on his mouth before sighing quietly yet contentedly into the kiss that he deepened.

* * *

><p>"Eat up, all of you," I ordered of the only members of the Slytherin team that had made it to breakfast early the morning of the game. Black, Malfoy, Riddle and Lestrange had witnessed me do the unthinkable for the second time in my life: serve them breakfast. Granted, it didn't take all that much out of me to dish up a stack of pancakes and syrup with a side of bacon for each of them, but still. I didn't want to make this a habit.<p>

"Did Avery get that Jinx removed?" asked Lestrange of Riddle, who nodded in response, chewing a mouthful of bacon. "Good. Bloody blithering idiot, that boy, getting himself jinxed – and by his own brother."

Riddle shrugged and I snickered.

"So, Spain, I see you caught up and got your spot back from Erickson's girl," Black said, swallowing a bite of food and smirking at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him before shrugging. "The magic of the Golden Rule, I guess, is still very powerful," I said in a mystic tone, waggling my fingers like some flimsy Muggle-produced image of a witch.

He jerked his chin at me and asked, "Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you?" with an extremely incredulous glint in his grayeyes.

"Sort of," I said with glance over at the Gryffindor table where Emily sat in deep conversation with Eliot as she freshened up his cup of tea. That, my good people, had started the day I effectively fucked with her head. "It's more like: Don't dish out what you can't eat," I finished off, taking a sip from Riddle's goblet. Black snickered through his mouthful of food and nodded, returning to his plate while Riddle eyed me from the corner of his eye. I smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "Well, I'm going to get a good seat with those two over there" I pointed over to the Gryffindor table "so I'll see you in the air," I finished off with a smile at all of them.

Fifteen minutes later, I sat next to Emily and Eliot, amongst others, up in the Gryffindor stands, pulling my coat tight around me. "_Fuck_, it's cold," I pushed through my chattering teeth.

Emily nodded, wide-eyed and mouth clamped shut (an effort to keep heat in, I think), as did Eliot. "Here," he said, standing and extracting his wand to draw a circle around the area we sat in and conjured up a sort of shield around us. Immediately, the cold stopped and the temperature in our little bubble came up to a comfortable level. "Better?" he asked, sitting back down.

"Much," Emily answered with a sigh of relief and I nodded in agreement, finally able to stop hugging myself. We sat there in silence for a bit, listening to the chattering around us (the shield apparently wasn't a very strong one), until Emily cleared her throat timidly and turned to me. "Thali?"

"Hmm?" I asked, turning my face to hers and cocking an eyebrow. We'd tried to get past the bit of discomfort from the other day by just ignoring it and starting again and I thought it had worked. I thought that she'd gone back to the state she'd immersed herself in when she first got with Eliot: all in love with him and whatnot. But judging by the look on her face now, I think I may have thought wrong.

"I…" She seemed to struggle for a couple of seconds for which words to use and I, not wanting to feel awkward, tried to help her. When she glanced back at Eliot, who sat with his hand gently placed on the small of her back – a supportive gesture – I figured I knew what she wanted to say.

"Don't worry," I told her, laying a friendly hand on hers and smiling. "Just promise me you'll open your mind again."

She released a small laugh of relief and nodded. "I promise."

As the stands filled up, I just listened to Emily and Eliot chatter away as well as the crowd around me. People talked a lot of shit when their team didn't have to play. People talked a lot of shit. Period. A few minutes before the game would start, I looked over to my right at the stairs that led down the stands and quickly turned away, shifting my coat collar up to hide my face. Mike had just entered from the stairs and now searched for a seat. I hadn't seen him since the day of the moving staircase thing, but I still felt my stomach drop a bit within me every time I thought of that day. I wanted to get as far away from him as possible _now_, but saw no way of doing so.

He sat himself right at the end of the bench nearest the stairs and immersed himself in conversation with some girls there. I couldn't get out of here.

"Thali?" Eliot interrupted my panicky moment and I swiftly swiveled my head to look at him, my heart racing in my chest.

"Yeah?"

"Switch with me," he said, glancing past me and I didn't need telling twice. We switched seats and Eliot fell into conversation again with Emily, telling her about why we just what we did.

Aghast, Emily stared at me and shook her head when he'd finished. "My God…."

I nodded and then shrugged. "Whatever. It's over now."

She blinked at me and then jumped at the sound of Avery announcing the players.

As the fourteen players flew out onto the field, I sat there, weirdly overcome with an empty sense of dread that I brushed off as just a sort of aftereffect to seeing Mike. Yeah, I didn't know how I'd get out of here once the game ended, but I'd find a way. So, numb and kind of absent, I let my eyes follow the quaffle through the blurs of green and blue. Slytherin fell behind early on, I realized when I heard a groan from their stands through the cheers from every other House, and I could actually see the fixed sneer on each of their players as they flew by. Eventually, I relaxed and got into the game, watching as seven more times the quaffle flew through a hoop and the score turned in favor of Ravenclaw (fifty to thirty).

I, within my protective bubble (the idea for which had spread throughout the stands), could not feel the numbing cold, but the poor players could. I spotted Lestrange a couple of times at the hoops he defended trying to keep his hands warm by blowing his breath into them. But he alone tried in vain to warm up. The rest of the Slytherin team just gritted their teeth and bore the icy slaps of wind on their faces, clutching their brooms tightly. Although, admittedly, I thought they did so because they had no other choice what with their fingers looking like they'd frozen onto the handles.

The Ravenclaw captain called a timeout after their last shot and as they huddled together, discussing who knows what, the Slytherin team followed their captain in a lap around the stadium. They took in a mixture of cheers and jeers from all sides before returning to their positions as Ravenclaw did the same. Riddle, Nott and Black stood on the offensive as the whistle blew and took off like speeding bullets after the quaffle, which, once again, found itself in the midst of a green and blue blurs.

I took this time to watch Malfoy, who roamed the bottom of the pitch, apparently having seen something. He'd zoomed back and forth the entire game after the tiny winged ball but had yet to even come close to catching it. But it seemed that this time he'd make it count, the work he put in. Angling sharply upward, he sped after a tiny glint that I couldn't even positively identify as the Snitch and actually ended up flying upside down over the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw stands. Then, with a stomach clenching jolt, I watched and listened as three things happened in very quick and horrifying succession: Malfoy enclosed his fingers around something – the Snitch; a horrible cry of pain reverberated around me, seemingly originating from the very last hoop on the Ravenclaw side, which stood not fifty feet from me; and, as I turned to see from whom the shout had come from, I caught sight of Riddle, horribly contorted on his broom, just before he slipped off, his face reflecting the pain I'd heard in the cry that had apparently come from him.

A blanket of density seemed to fall on the scene, slowing it down tauntingly as I shot forward out of my seat and into the guardrails. Riddle, gritting his teeth and recovering a bit from whatever had happened to him, twisted in midair, reaching into his robes. His wand. He wanted to stop himself before he hit the frozen ground. But my eyes, with the help of the eighty percent of my brain that normally went untapped – much quicker than the twenty percent I lived day to day with – calculated and saw: he wouldn't make it. The force of gravity pulled him too fast toward the core of the Earth, as the Laws of Physics dictate they do. He, as fast as he'd trained his reflexes to respond, couldn't possibly yank the wooden savior out of his robes and cast a spell effectively in time.

He'd fallen all of maybe ten or fifteen feet by the time I'd processed this much, clutching the top railing with one hand while the other desperately searched my pockets for my wand. I needed to help and just as I found the stick and got it out to cast my Momentum Arresting spell – just as the force of gravity associated with Riddle's falling form squared itself again pulling him at a faster rate toward the ground – someone else's spell shot right past him in a bright streak of blue.

Registering that bit somewhere in the back of the entire cortex, my brain overrode my deepest survival instincts and forced my body to shut down certain processes and to bring certain others into their optimal states of function. Fight or flight mode, as most usually call it, turned itself on in me and immediately the gasps of horror and shouts of alarm that had come at the sight of Riddle's fall all fell silent to me. I could only hear the sound of my own heart beating and of my own steady and measured breathing as I placed a foot on the bottommost rail of the set of guardrails. Sure, I saw from my peripheral vision many people around me shooting out of their seats and even trying to reach for me. But, acting on overridden instinct, I pushed off of the ground with my other foot and let myself swing and fall lithely, practically gracefully right over the railings.

The scene sped up drastically as I plummeted. Riddle cleared the last few feet of his fall and, with a sickeningly echoing _thud_ and _crunch_ or _snap_ or maybe all three, hit the frozen ground. Feeling my own heart leap out of my chest and join him on the ground, I swiped my wand across my path of descent and cast my own spell to slow myself down. I hit the ground running right towards the crumpled form of Riddle, listening for any sign of life through the noise of the stadium.

"Are you out of you fucking mind?" I heard a familiar voice ask as I crouched down beside Riddle, but ignored the question. Riddle, still face down, lay completely still with his wand hand beneath him and his left leg jutting out at the wrong angle. I reached out to try to move him, but found it unnecessary as he began to stir. With a heart wrenching groan, he used his still good left arm to push his upper body off of the ground, careful to not move his other arm from its crushed position. He clenched his teeth so tightly together, holding in another cry of pain, that I would have sworn a couple of them cracked from pure pressure. It broke my heart a million times over to see this and, had my brain not ceased the bodily process of producing tears to get me down here safely, I'd have started crying then and there.

Seemingly from out of thin air, Black suddenly appeared and, crouched as well, gripped Riddle's shoulder to keep him from moving. "Hold still, mate, you're really messed up," he told him as his teammates came from out of nowhere as well and started conjuring up a stretcher and, ironically enough, ice packs. "Thalia, help me move him," he ordered, standing and holding his wand up.

Right. Wand. I nodded and, with him, cast the levitation charm to gently move Riddle from the ground onto the nearby stretcher so the others could ice him down. Only when Dippet and Dumbledore finally made it to the scene and converged around a still very much in pain Riddle (he'd started to suck in and release shuddering breaths through his clenched teeth) did I notice the piece of snapped wood on the ground. Fuck. His wand. But I had no time to think too much on that for people now started to run onto the field from the stands and the Slytherin team started to carry their captain away. So, I grabbed the snapped wand from the slight indentation Riddle's weight had pushed it into, and ran to catch up with the Slytherins.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," Madame Marche said in a rather panicked tone in the Hospital Wing, but, from what I could see, did not panic at all. Immediately (and as gently as she could for she was obviously moved as well by Riddle's obvious pain), she set to work as soon as his team had deposited him onto a bed. But so much had happened to him that it shocked her as much as it did us.

His entire right arm had gotten crushed and mutilated by his own splintered bones. She had to rid his arm of the bone fragments and give him Skele-Gro after cleaning and sealing his wounds. His left femur had snapped and ripped right through the flesh of his thigh (she took care of that herself); his knee cap and tibia also needed setting into place for some minor regrowth. He'd spend at least the night here. "What happened to him, dearie?" she asked me once she'd given him the Skele-Gro and a bit of her Dreamless Sleep potion.

I shook my head, shrugging, and watched him succumb to the huge gulp of potion she'd poured down his throat. I'd watched and gripped his left hand as tightly as he gripped mine while she worked. He didn't utter a single sound other than a tiny breath of discomfort when she removed the bones from his right arm. But his clenched teeth never unclenched and I could only squeeze his hand to keep myself from letting my tears escape. He didn't need me falling apart. "Fell off of his broom, but –"

"He was hit with an Unforgiveable, ma'am," said Lestrange, eying Riddle through narrowed and disbelieving eyes.

I turned to look at the others and saw them nodding as well. "What?" I asked doubtingly.

Black turned to me from the bedside table he leaned against and nodded. "Did you think a Stinging Jinx could make him scream like that?" He met my shocked silence with a sneering smirk. "Someone hit him with the Cruciatus."

"That's a serious accusation, Mr. Black," came Dippet's voice. "Are you quite sure that – "

"Forgive me, Headmaster, but nothing but _that_ could have been strong enough to make this," Black pointed at Riddle's sleeping form on the bed "of my friend." He met Dippet's worried gaze with a defiant one. "Nothing," he repeated and turned back to me, staring in silence.

I knew what ran through his mind now. Who?

"Sweetheart, I think you need to take some of this," said Madame March to me, holding up another little potion bottle that I knew held her Draught of Peace. "You're about to snap that wand in four." She held out her hand for the broken wand and I, blinking a few times to clear my head, handed it to her. Maybe I did need the draught. "Here, just a sip. That's a good girl," she said very maternally and tipped the potion into my mouth as she unlaced Riddle's and my fingers to guide me slowly to the bed right next to his. "There we are," she said with a smile as I sat, feeling unfazed by the potion, on the edge of the bed. "Time always seems to work bigger miracles when the couples are allowed to stay together here."

I smiled warmly at that last bit and let her fuss over me a bit, tucking back strands of my hair and checking my forehead, eyes and overall expression. The others watched, a bit transfixed, as she did this, but said nothing….

"Just rest now, dear. He'll be as good as new soon and you'll be the first thing he sees," she said sweetly before bustling off to talk with the Professors.

Impossible. I could not rest. How anyone expected me to went beyond the thinking capacity of even one hundred percent of the gray matter in my skull. I just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Who could have done this? _Why_ would they have done this? What the hell kind of problem could someone have with Riddle that they needed to attack him like that with his back turned and his full concentration on the game?

I moved my gaze up to Dumbledore, who'd glanced at me every now and then as Riddle got patched up and even now as he talked with Dippet about searching the school or something. I wanted to knock those half-moon spectacles right off of his crooked nose. I realized then that only _he_ could have cast that spell that just barely missed Riddle quickly enough so that it made it there before he hit the ground. This son of a bitch _let_ Riddle hit the ground. _Relax yourself – don't be hasty. We don't know if it was an accident or not…. Dumbledore caught Harry Potter that one time in midair – why couldn't he catch Riddle? …Those kinds of spells are hard to perform even with the best of conditions, now imagine with the shock of one of his students just getting attacked and having to think quickly how to save him? …I don't care. I know he let him hit the ground on purpose. He'd do anything to just stop Riddle…._


	16. From the Flapping Of Tiny Wings Part One

**A/N: **Guys, seriously: there should be some kind of cure for writer's block. I just pushed through my worst case of it ever and omg I don't even know what to think of this chapter. Hopefully it makes up for recent blah-ness and explains a few more things while, of course and as always, bringing up more questions. But, meh. I digress a bit. As always, my beloved minion-readers, thanks so much for the reviews, adds, alerts and of course, reading. I hope you guys continue to read and love this story. I'll try my best to not suck. :P **FadedSunset**, anything Riddle does is schmexiness on a cracker lol and yeah excitenment is well warranted for that =) oh and yeah, it kind of scares me how observant I am. Sometimes I feel like I might be walking around like this O.O and not even know it. Meh, I try to be normal. Alas, that shit's in vain. **mspstar97**, no prob, hun. I always mention those of you who are kind enough to take the time to review about how you feel. Thanks for that and for trudging through ridiclously long chapters :P. I hope you guys all enjoy this chapter. What can I say about it? Let's just say Thalia comes back home and has the nastiest reality check so far here and...well, maybe you'll know which tiny wings I'm talking about. Enjoy, my minion-readers, and ya know what to do! =)

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Fifteen: **_From the Flapping Of Tiny Wings Part One_****

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><p><em>"Design is an unknown." – Geoffrey Beene <em>

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><p><em>You've got to be fucking kidding me…. It's true and you know it…. Look, we don't <em>'know'_ anything – you're just still pissed off…. As if you wouldn't be…. How many times do I need to clarify that I'm just another part of you? I feel what you feel – I know what this looks like. But I'm the part of you that your id hasn't eaten yet and can still think somewhat clearly despite…well, despite _Riddle_... … …Look, I know it's confusing and stressful and exciting and heartwarming and familiar all at once – I wouldn't expect it to be anything else what with remembering what you've been through in the other circuits but at the same time keeping consistent with what you've been though in _this circuit_. But just think for a minute. Dumbledore has always been kind to you and he knows you love Riddle…I know you don't think he was capable of this – you're smarter than that…. It's not about brains, though…it's about what's fact: Dumbledore knows what Riddle will become and that it ultimately results in his own death. If you don't want to base this on pure survival instinct, then fine. We'll base it on his kindness. The same kindness that will want to keep his students alive at all costs. After all, Riddle and I are just orphans. What difference will it make if we die…? …Do you think Riddle would go to such lengths to stay with you as you have? …What do you mean? …Well, you originally wanted to save your family…now all you can think of is staying with him. Do you think he'd give up everything he's ever wanted – image, power, influence – to stay with you? …He already has at least five times! …No…he's always just dropped the Darkness long enough to be able to fit into wizard society. But he never stopped his ambition: hired straight away into the Ministry after graduating, even when you left him, worked his way up to Head of the Auror Department position…killed you…six times. And this last time, he figured out what you are, yes, but he never gave anything up for you – never even tried past his little theatrics. 'I'll not lay a finger on you' – bullshit…. Five…. What? ….Five times he killed me…we don't know what happened at the end of the last circuit other than my giving up…. Whatever, all I'm saying is that he never had to give up and since technically you saved your family, neither did you…. So…? …So, don't you think that you should leave well enough alone and just do what you were told from the beginning? ...Father Time? …Yeah…. Die? …Yeah…. No – there has to be a way – every law is made to be broken. I just need to figure out how…. You already did…and you almost killed both of you. Do you really want to do that again? …I'll find a way…. _

The Realist fell silent, then. She loves Riddle too. She just spends too much time in my ego, chatting up my superego rather than in my id, ignoring it. I think so, anyway. But of her loving him…well, she said it: she's just another part of me. But desperation in the face of recent events (not to mention of recent changes to both my form of being and Riddle's that, truth be told, seem a bit farfetched) have obviously gotten to her. She cracked and just latched onto the safest place she knows: Dumbledore is a good guy. I don't blame her, but in this case I think she requires a dose of her own 'get-over-it' medicine. In a world – a _dimension_, if I may – where Lord Voldemort plays your love interest, one should _expect_ Dumbledore as an enemy…. I learned this the hard way.

But I got over it. She'll eventually get there. Amazing how the human mind works, no? Bits and pieces working independently of one another yet functioning as a whole to perceive what can only affect the whole. It sounds painful (and at first, is) but once the shock wears down, pretty much anything seems valid. In this neck of the woods anyway: Dumbledore Equals Enemy, I mean. Many other things still, as I experienced upon reflecting on the last few weeks in terms of my behavior and of Riddle's, freak me the fuck out.

_"You're too cute when you're jealous."_; _"I knew you didn't miss me."_; envy; jealousy; out of control, stupid, hormone-driven fluffiness….

'Nuff said, in my humble and most terrified opinion. Ugh. I mean, okay. Yeah, we'd just started this relationship and I guess I knew something like this would happen because well, hadn't I expressed my fears non-stop of liking Riddle, loving Riddle, getting into a relationship with him because of the shit I'd seen people go through? Yes. Yes, I believe, I did. So, I knew this shit would happen. I just didn't want it to. But it happened and all of a sudden, I _go with it_. I start off small. I like the kissing and the closeness. I enjoy time alone with him free of the tension that unexpressed feelings breeds. I feel at ease. But then, I get jealous. I get possessive. I turn into a brat…. In sum, I scare the living shit out of myself. And that doesn't even cover what the fuck Riddle has turned into.

It confuses me, really, all the different reactions I feel toward his reaction to this. Even if I didn't think of him as Lord fucking Voldemort acting all…_boyfriend-y_ and shit – even if I just took what I knew Riddle acted like from the day I met him (polite and charming outwardly while, in confidence, an undercover Casanova who's probably fucked half the girls in this school) and analyzed that in terms of what he's turned into now…. I don't know. Can people really change like that?

_Are you fucking kidding me? …Well, you're the one who said he never really changed! …I said he never gave up on what he really wanted…but as for his outlook and certain aspects of his form of being, of course he changed. He loved you, didn't he? …Did he? …You were going to marry him – he wanted a baby with you…does that sound like what he would have become had you done nothing…? …So, he's changing – like, despite me not even trying anymore? …It would seem so. But then again, like you said, it's a bit much for just three weeks unless you count the months before and even then still a lot. Have you ever considered that maybe he's just telling the truth? …Truth? …That this – the relationship thing – is new to him too. Maybe, just like every other stupid, hormone driven, impressionable and over-exposed teenager – including _you_, Ms. I'll-never-want-a-boyfriend-parasite-person-thing, he just got swept up in the new car smell so to speak…. _What?_ …Ugh – you're his first _real_, decent, not-a-slutbag girlfriend…possibly his first girlfriend, period... _

Mulling that over a bit more, I stood from the bed that Madame Marche had sat me on, walked over to Riddle's bed and reached out a hand to brush back a few strands of hair that had fallen delicately over his eyes. He seemed…innocent. Untouched. Unperturbed and unshaken by what had happened less than an hour ago. I'd go as far as saying angelic. His somewhat long lashes grazed his cheeks with his eyes closed; all his facial muscles relaxed, letting the tranquility of a dreamless sleep shine through his porcelain skin; his elegantly formed – naturally, it seemed for evidence of plucking lacked here – brows, usually raised in a bored manner or furrowed in thought, now adorned his eyes as they meant to: peacefully. Undisturbed. And I knew, looking at this unmasked Riddle – _my_ Tom from so long ago – seeing the pieces of the innocence that shattered years ago at the base of those lashes and underneath the curvature of his lips and below his brow ridge, that it didn't matter.

I relaxed and I knew he would too when he woke. Yeah, as humans we still fell, affected, to the rage of hormones in our system and did all kinds of weird, out of the blue shit. But we get over it like everyone else. It seems foolish and completely unnecessary to mention this now at this time, but like I said: Dumbledore letting him hit the ground like that, as much as it angers me, doesn't surprise me. This does…did.

"You okay?" Black asked a couple of hours later from the bedside table he'd cleared of its vase to sit on it comfortably.

Nodding, I uttered my displeasure at having to move after not doing so since I sat down on the edge of Riddle's bed almost two hours before and then stood. "Just…I don't know, dude. I just want to," I made the hand motions for throttling an invisible person in front of me and then gave him an exasperated look.

He nodded too. "I know. I imagine your insanity will best you then too." He smirked and merely shook his head at my pursed lips and narrowed eyes. After a moment or two's silence, he looked back up at me, tearing his gaze from Riddle, and asked, "Want something for the nerves?"

I shrugged. "Nothing works here. I might as well just deal."

He chuckled heartily and stood. "Oh sweet, naïve Spain, you know me yet." With a sneaky little grin, he began walking toward the Wing door. "I'll be back in a few. Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott," he called over his shoulder in a good imitation of a Riddle-Captain's tone, "get the titchy ones out of here and go change out of those." The heavy door groaned as it closed behind him and then the others, Lestrange, Malfoy, and Nott, stood.

"Let's go," Lestrange said in a smooth, yet threatening tone to young Mulciber while Malfoy jabbed young Avery out of his seat. The five boys that Black had left behind walked – well, three walked and two trudged – out the door and didn't say a word with respect to Black's odd little comment.

I didn't mind, though. The silence they left behind didn't differ much from the one that had inhabited the room with them in it, but it felt a bit more comfortable still. Now, I just stood there with Riddle, alone. Well, mostly. The Petrified boy still lay all the way at the end of the Wing, the curtains drawn around his bed, not forgotten yet not particularly remembered save for the occasional "are the mandrake roots ready yet?" conversation. Madame Marche had retreated to her office and probably sat in there, building a medical file for Riddle. But for all intents and purposes, I stood there alone, just thinking.

Dumbledore and Dippet had reacted right away to the incident. As soon as they knew Riddle would fair just fine once healed, they took action, starting with the seven of us. We had to submit our wands ("for the purposes of protocol," Dumbledore had said and Dippet nodded in agreement) to the _Priori Incantato_ while, as they explained, the other Heads of House had already begun this process with their students with the help of their Prefects – well save for Slughorn, who asked the Head Boy for help. Two levitation spells and five conjuration spells came forth from our wands and then they explained that the Ministry had already sent someone from the Auror Department to detain the attacker. They also explained that at minimal consequence, he or she would face expulsion and Wand Destruction; at maximum consequence, they'd face life imprisonment in Azkaban. It all depended, Dippet told us with a solemn expression, on the person's age and physical resiliency – whether or not they'd give in quickly to the Dementors' effect.

It all seemed official and legit and even speedy enough for me. I understood how long a process like that could take with so many students and so few people taking on such a tedious task. I understood that I needed patience and could not act impulsively for I might fuck things up royally. I understood. I just didn't feel right doing so. And I knew why. Simply put, I didn't trust it. Now, before you go and remind me about my decision to calm the fuck down and relax on the whole 'Protective slash Jealous slash Oh, So Loving Girlfriend' shit, think about it. Would you trust this shit even if didn't involve the person you love but instead just a good friend or even just an acquaintance who you knew the person in charge of the whole process (because let's face it, we _all_ know Dippet is Dumbledore's bitch) hates them? Yeah. Exactly. So, forgive my insolence, but I already fell for one of Dumbledore's lies. I just didn't want to fall for another.

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><p>"Black?"<p>

"Yeah, Spain?"

"You're a bloody genius."

He chuckled throatily and popped the last crisp into his mouth, chasing it with his shot of Firewhiskey. He'd hissed a bit after the first burning shot and half-hissed after the second. Now, after this seventh, he didn't even twist his mouth at the taste of the alcohol. He simply went to refill his tumbler and mine as well as Nott's. "I figured as much."

I too laughed throatily and carelessly threw back my sixth shot, leaning back against the leg of Riddle's bed to revel in its courage inducing burn. Black had returned within half an hour of leaving, bathed (shining, black hair still wet and plastered a bit to his face), rid of his quidditch robes and carrying a bagful of crisps. Upon Malfoy's, Lestrange's and Nott's arrivals (they too had bathed and changed), he surreptitiously sound-proofed Madame Marche's door. Then, smirking at me with a twinkle in his eyes that I now remembered seeing – though fleetingly – in very similar, yet fathomless gray eyes during the panic ensuing Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban, he extracted something from his pocket. Miniature glassware and an airport-bottled sized bottle of Ogden's Old. He returned them to their normal size after I cocked an expectant eyebrow at him, smirking still of course, and began pouring shots.

Now, about an hour or so later (we'd mastered the Refilling Charm after having to down a few flaming shots each), we all sat on the floor in between Riddle's bed and the one Madame Marche had sat me on, totally and utterly relaxed.

"Ah, ah, ah," Malfoy began with an admonishingly wagging finger and a sly smirk, "She's Riddle's girl, Lucas. No flirting with this one."

I sputtered. "_Lucas_?"

Black narrowed his now glassy eyes at Malfoy and then turned to me with a leer. "_Don't_ call me that."

Snickering, I nodded and held up my right hand with my thumb and forefinger making a circle while the other three fingers made the K. "Right. No worries, Lucas."

Another leer followed that but he refilled my tumbler anyway. "No more for you. You're obviously shitfaced, mate," he said, passing over Malfoy's tumbler to Lestrange's and then Nott's.

"W-whaaat?" Malfoy asked, squinting his red-rimmed eyes and leaning in, an incredulous expression sewn into his usually pointy features.

Black nodded seriously and suppressed a belch or hiccup or something. "Thinking I'm flirting with Spain." He shook his head with an exhausted and slightly amused expression – mock disbelief. "_Spain_ would kick my ass before Riddle got around to…well, what he does." He snickered then and threw back two consecutive shots before acknowledging my extended hand and spotting my empty glass. "You sure can put them away can't you? You're not even slurring."

I spared a wink and a smile before downing the shot and slapping the floor while cringing a bit at the bitter taste forming in the back of my throat. "Oh, that's the best thing I've tasted in a while," I admitted to them and smirked at their aloft eyebrows. "Just hit me, Black."

"So, Spain, tell me," he said conversationally, waiting for me to get through this next shot so he could refill my glass again before casting another Refilling Charm. "Who do you think did that?" he gestured to Riddle before swigging straight from the bottle.

Knitting my brow, I downed the bit in the glass before curling my fingers back toward me for the bottle. When I had it in my hand and had swigged from it, I answered, "No idea. But whoever did…" I paused, trying to find the words in the watery, foggy, dense and gloppy soup that I'd made of my brain – thinking of the worst I could possibly do to the person who did this to Riddle…my Tom, my angel who slept up there on the bed. Killing them didn't even cross my mind as vicious enough. "…they should just…they should just…just…" I inhaled deeply, took another swig from the bottle and handed it off to Lestrange who beckoned for it. "…just _ask_ to be Kissed to save them the misery of finding themselves in front of me."

Smirking, Black laid his hand on my shoulder and shook it. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Espinoza….Espinoza….Espinoza…. I _like_ that name," he exclaimed, smiling and looking around at us all through squinting, and now plain watery eyes. "Espinoza…."

I laughed and, again, leaned back against the leg of the bed. "Have they finished searching the Houses?" I asked after a couple of minutes.

Nott shook his head and passed Malfoy the bottle. I shrugged. They'd eventually find the person, I knew, but this had taken too long already. Accepting the bottle from Malfoy and taking one more swig, I stood and made for the door. Surprisingly, after, what, a bottle give or take, I could still walk without tripping.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Black called after me and then he cut in front of me just before I got to the door.

"What?" I complained, trying to get around him.

"Where d'you think – hic – you're going with our bottle?"

I suppressed a hiccup and handed him the bottle. "Sorry. Now move."

He held up the bottle to look at it and then looked into my face and then back at the bottle again. "Where're you going?"

With an incredulous sneer, I pushed past him and called behind me, "To find who the fuck did _that_ – " I pointed backward at Riddle "– to my baby!"

He mumbled something about a bottle as my limit and then I felt something catch on my coat's back. "Now, now, Spain, be a good little lady and – oh _shit_!"

I'd flung my elbow backward, aiming for his face, but he let go and ducked in time so I ended up doing a kind of pirouette on the spot and realizing that although I could still walk, I could not, however, make sudden movements and expect to keep my balance. "Fuck," I muttered, stumbling backward into the edge of the door I'd opened and wincing at the discomfort of it digging into my back. Apart from _ow_, I could only think, _thank God we sound-proofed her door._

"What the hell are you doing, Black?"

That hadn't sounded anything like Nott, Lestrange or Malfoy.

Sobering up and _fast_ at the sound of that sleep-drowned voice, I straightened up, shoved Black's stumbling form out of my way and rushed back to Riddle's bed just as the curious faces of the other three peered over the edge from their positions on the floor. "Tom," I breathed, smelling the whiskey on my breath and immediately trying to not breathe on him too much.

He'd only slept for about three or four hours – the Skele-Gro had yet to finish its job – and as such he'd only successfully pushed himself with his left arm into a half-risen position from his previous fully prostrated one because his still broken and re-growing bones only allowed for that much movement. But one look at his face (brows angled angrily, eyes severely darkened, and crease deep and straight down the middle of his forehead) and you'd know that, despite his condition, he wanted to leap out of the bed and possibly punch Black or skin him. Either or. "Are you alright?" he asked me, not taking his eyes off of Black who, by now, had straightened himself out and sobered up as well, by the alert look in his eyes.

I nodded. "Yeah." _Fuck_, I thought as I smelled my own breath again, having breathed the word. "Black was just trying to keep me from doing something kind of stupid. I'm sorry we woke you."

"Here, mate," Black said, walking over and offering the bottle to Riddle.

"Have you lost your –"

"Help me out, will you?" Riddle asked, the sleep falling from his tone a little and trying to shift himself into a more upright position.

Black smirked at me and jerked his chin at Riddle. "Help him, Spain. He's _your_ baby."

"Her _what_?"

"Nothing," I cut Black off tersely, scowling at him and moving to gently help Riddle into a seated position. He made no sound of discomfort, which made it difficult to know if I touched tender spots, but I tried all the same not to. "There?" I asked when he sat upright, right arm still half deflated and left leg looking quite stiff beneath his robes.

He nodded and blinked the sleep from his eyes before taking the bottle from Black. "What stupid thing were you going to do now?" he asked almost rudely of me.

Past my bout of panic of him seeing me even slightly tipsy, I answered him just as insolently. "I was gonna go find who did this to you."

He eyed me a bit over his swig and then swallowed, smirking and fully awake now. "And do _what_, exactly?" he asked handing me the bottle.

I could feel the other guys' eyes on me and I wanted to sneer and just walk away. Where did he get off acting like this much of an ass? _Dumbass, _this_ is the normal Riddle. He's just messing with you. Relax._ Swigging from the bottle and handing it to Black to Refill it, I answered with a smirk: "Flaying seemed like a pretty good idea a minute ago, but now I'm bored with it…. Any suggestions?"

He shook with soft laughter, still smirking, and then shook his head, a look of amused acceptance on his now less angelic features. "I don't think you can hold your liquor as well as you think you can."

I scoffed and stood, taking off my coat. It had gotten too hot now after so much alcohol and panic.

"Peep show?" asked Black, smirking as I sat back down after hanging the encumbering material on the bedpost.

I narrowed my eyes at him and snatched the bottle back. "Respétame, loco."

"English, please," he mocked as I tipped back a couple of shots in one swig.

Riddle, scoffing a bit and then taking the bottle from me, answered, "She said, 'respect me, fool' or 'crazy' or whatever." He finished off with a shrug and took another, larger swig. He hadn't hissed once at the burn. I didn't know whether to worry or just attribute that to whatever he called upon to not react to pain.

"Ah," Black uttered, nodding and then patted my head.

"Are you serious?" I swatted his hand away and, rather rougher than I'd meant to, took the bottle straight from Riddle's mouth.

He snickered, whipping his mouth of the whiskey I'd made him spill and asked, "Are you okay? You seem stressed."

"'Stressed' doesn't cover it." He watched me as I swigged again and then smirked when I had to slow down mid-swallow. It had burned a bit more than I'd expected. "Here, I'm done."

He took the bottle, still smirking and nodded, seeming impressed. "A thirty – maybe forty foot jump you can clear no problem. Firewhiskey and a few comments, however," he chuckled and drank.

This time I laughed. "Fucking assholes." I knocked his right leg a bit so that he'd move it. He did and I slid further onto the bed, folding one leg up. He smiled at me, handing Lestrange the bottle and I smiled back. "We're balanced?"

"Perfect zero," he answered with a nod and reached a bit stiffly toward me with his good hand.

I met him half way and laced our fingers before letting our hands fall into his lap.

"Hey, how long do think we'll have to wait before –" Black began.

"Thali?"

Looking for the source of the voice, I turned to the door (where the timid little address had come from), and spotted Black's reason for his next comment:

"Ah, there it goes. Emily, love, come here."

Snickering at the scandalized and confused look flitting across her face before she obviously spotted his watery eyes and the bottle that one of the others had passed him, I waved her over and moved up a bit on the bed. "What is up, my darling?"

She smiled weakly at my imitation of Count von Count despite not even knowing where it had come from as she sat on my left. "Thali, um, have you eaten?"

Smiling widely at her (this was gonna be fun for me), I shook my head no. "Not really, no."

"Ah." She smiled some more and nodded. "Well, how much have you had?"

Still smiling, I shrugged. "No clue."

Riddle chuckled lightly behind me. "She's okay, Emily, I promise."

Emily eyed him for a bit, checking for red-rimmed or glassy eyes, or perhaps sullenness, and then smiled when she saw none. He'd only had, what, three shots? "Oh. Good, Tom. At least you're awake and with her. How do you feel by the way?"

I smirked, turning to Riddle and listened.

"I'm fine. Just a bit stiff. Thanks for asking," he said, dipping his head politely.

Emily nodded and then asked, nudging me, "You're not that drunk, right?"

"I'm not drunk at all, Emily. I'm just…what did you call it?" I asked of Riddle.

"Stressed?" he suggested with a smirk.

Scoffing a laugh, I nodded and then turned to Emily again. "What he said."

Emily shook her head but smiled. "Eliot and I just got through with the wand check. He went to eat something and sent me to see if you were hungry. We figured you wouldn't have left Tom's side," she gushed.

I smiled. Tugging a bit at our clasped hands, I shook my head. "I'm good. Thanks, though."

"She'll be feasting on chicken a la Riddle as soon as we leave anyway," Black commented in a bored tone Refilling the whiskey again.

Riddle eyed him and then shook his head, a bored look on his face too. "Whiskey must fuck up the part of the brain that gives you your funny edge," he commented seriously with an inferring gaze at Black.

I scoffed and then laughed loudly at Emily's gasp. "Hey, hey, hey! _Relax_," I ordered her as she visibly stiffened.

She gazed at me, eyes kind of wide. "But he –"

"What happened to the open mind shit?"

She sucked her teeth and stood. Nodding, she said, "Fine, fine. I'll let you continue to corrupt him –"

"– oh he was corrupted a _long_ time before he met me –"

"– I'll tell Eliot you're fine," she finished with a reluctant smirk.

I nodded and waved as she walked away and then turned back to Riddle who smirked crookedly.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," he told me and reached for the bottle.

* * *

><p>"How far along are they?" I asked Eliot a few hours later at about six in the evening, pinching the bridge of my nose. We'd stopped drinking as soon as we finished the bottle Black Refilled before Emily left and now I stood with him (he'd come to check on me too) at the foot of Riddle's bed, paying the price of not sleeping it off.<p>

"No idea. The Ministry rep got here about an hour ago and he called in three other men, so it's sped up a bit since then, but I bet there're still hundreds of wands to go. Anyway, I doubt one of us did it. There's been talk," he clarified when I looked up in confusion.

"About?"

He grimaced and sighed before jerking his chin at Riddle behind me, who'd taken to talking quietly with the others about what this might mean in terms of the next games. "Riddle."

"Mm?" Riddle uttered with an inflection, looking up from some kind of score card Black had drawn out on the bedspread.

"Did you see who attacked you?" Eliot asked.

"Wish I had," Riddle answered darkly, but shrugged. "Why?"

Eliot sighed again, grimacing worriedly. "They're saying that if it wasn't a student – and they doubt it was as that's really advanced magic – then they have a pretty good idea who it might have been and that means no more Hogsmeade or probably outdoor lessons." He finished with an airy shake of the head to emphasize the lack of interest loss of outdoor lessons generated in him.

I squinted a bit through my dull headache at Eliot and asked, "Who?"

"Who do you think?" he asked almost rudely and quite unlike him.

"Grindelwald," uttered Malfoy in a weak voice.

Eliot and Riddle nodded together.

"But how could he have gotten –"

I cut Nott off most rudely and snidely, panic seeping into my veins, "– _not_ him _personally_ – his _soldiers_ and they could've snuck in with the Hogsmeade guests. _Fuck_!" Kicking at the leg of the bed that I'd leaned against before, I tried releasing my anger there, but it didn't work. I'd have to leave. And I did. Without another word or glance backward, I strode right out of the Wing and up and around three corridors and four corners before I could even think to look where I'd stepped. I ended up all the way on the other side of the castle, in the poorly lit end of the corridor in front of some creepy painting and a large, floor level, broken window. It had begun to snow again and the window whistled shrilly through the tiny fissures that marred the remaining glass while some flakes swirled in with it. The cold bit at my exposed forearms (I'd worn a thin blouse whose sleeves only went three quarters) and at my still alcohol reddened cheeks. But I didn't care. Who would? Grindelwald. His soldiers. Here – attacking _students_!

Breathing deeply, I tried to calm myself. I'd have to think clearly to understand this. You see, Grindelwald, as far as History of Magic had ever managed to get past the thick layer of calcium protecting my brain, didn't make it to Britain until 1945-ish and had _never_ attacked students on Hogwarts grounds. _Not that you know of…. Still, it didn't happen in the other circuits…. But there was already a written past before you started even your first circuit – maybe it happened then? …If it did, then it wasn't Riddle. I mean, don't you think that would've been mentioned – Thing Two attacked by Thing One twenty or thirty years before Thing Two came to power? …Maybe…. Maybe…. _Sighing, I turned to go back to the Hospital Wing, but stopped dead in my tracks, accidentally squeaking my trainers against the floor in the process, when I heard a hushed, "_Quiet!_"

"Someone's here," came a soft, female voice followed by quick footsteps from around the corner nearer this end of the corridor.

Thinking as quickly as I could, I wriggled myself though the hole in the window, a fairly tight squeeze for even the thinnest person, onto the wider than normal but very slippery, ice coated ledge. Here, reminding myself that earlier I had jumped from a much greater height and survived, I sidled carefully but quickly, firmly pressing my body against the uneven stone of the castle wall, until I had completely covered myself with it. Just as I dug the heel of my right shoe into a slightly melted and cracking portion of the ice on the ledge for steadier footing, I heard the female voice shout, "_Homenum revelio!_" into the corridor she'd just turned into apparently.

Praying that she'd only cast it for the corridor, I continued to fiercely press myself against the cold stone while the bitter wind lashed at the rest of me. My blouse, after so much squirming and twisting against the stone to get here, had gotten shredded and now my abdomen and lower back suffered dearly. But that fell down my list of important things as the female spoke again to her companion, obviously having seen no one in the corridor.

"Five hundred Galleons. As promised."

"I had to Imperius the Prefect too to get out of there. How about a little extra for that shit?" answered her male companion whose voice scraped crudely on my nerves, putting the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

_No way_, I mentally pushed out.

The female, whose voice now began to hit familiar notes, released a soft huff and sucked her teeth but said, "Fine. Eight hundred and not a Knut more," over the soft chinking of heavy coins.

_No. No way. No._

I could _hear_ the smirk on the male's voice as he said, "I don't think he'll dump her, but at least he got what was coming to him."

The female laughed a soft, feminine ring of sorts and answered, "I don't know. Tom's quite the passionate and…_angry_ boy. If he didn't accuse you or the other one right off the bat, he'll do it eventually out of jealousy."

"Jealousy?"

"He…tends to be very…possessive. So you should get to work on the other part of this if you want it to be totally worthwhile for you."

They both breathed soft scoffs then and, over the almost inaudible jingling of coins and almost drowned by a particularly loud howl of the wind, the male said, "Well, if I'm gonna do that, I better get going."

"Good night."

"Later."

As their footsteps started up again, up the opposite side of the corridor they'd turned in on, I sidled against the wall again, carefully, quickly and slipped back in through the hole. I needed to make sure. I mean, I already _knew_, but I had to _make sure_…. As I stepped away from the window, still so careful to not make a sound, I watched Rose Selwyn and Michael Parkinson walk the rest of this corridor and disappear around the corner into the next.

* * *

><p>"…you might catch her if you wait," I heard Eliot saying stiffly, apprehensively as I approached the Wing door. "But I don't think you're welcome to. Just wait until tomorrow."<p>

"I _can't_," Mike's voice reached my ears more directly as I pushed the door open and saw him standing there, at the foot of Riddle's bed, towering over Eliot's casually posed form.

Immediately, my eyes jumped to Riddle, who still sat on the bed but a bit more comfortably it seemed. The clock near Madame Marche's office door indicated that the tower clock would soon strike seven. He'd have healed nearly completely by now. But even that didn't make it to the very top of my importance list. The blankness of his features did. Blank. Nothing. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Practically dead – especially the eyes.

All eyes fell on me: Emily, who'd returned while I'd gone apparently, peered at me in shock from next to Black who eyed me with a crease between his eyes; Nott, Lestrange, Malfoy gawked at me through still red-rimmed eyes; and Eliot and Mike both turned to me with angry glares in their eyes though I knew they'd meant them for each other. Well, all eyes except Riddle's. He stared at Mike still with his dead eyes.

"Get out." Surprised at how even and calm my voice sounded for how hard my heart pounded in my chest and how shaky I felt, I stepped forward, quite steadily, toward Mike and indicated the door. "_Now_."

"Thali, honey, I need to talk to you," he told me, totally ignoring me. Faster than I thought he could, he'd stepped to me and laid his large hands on my still frozen arms.

Like this, I felt so aware of myself: my shakiness, the cold I felt, the shredded blouse, the pallor of my own skin…. I hated it. "Take. Your hands. Off me." He didn't respond save for a blink or two and then shook his head smiling, as if _I_ couldn't understand _him_ – as if _I_ had misinterpreted _him_. "_NOW!_" I half-yelled, half-shrieked in anger at him, ripping myself from him and pulling my wand swiftly from my back pocket.

"Thali," he whispered, shocked. Concerned. _Worried_.

Breathing hard through my nose – shuddering breaths of anger – and lips trembling as I twisted my mouth, trying to form words, I raised my wand. "You might as well use the time I'm giving you now to send one last note to Mummy and Daddy explaining _why_," I began in an even yet slowly waning toward unyielding tone, "_Thalia fucking ESPINOZA TORTURED THEIR PRECIOUS LITTLE BOY BEFORE HANDING HIM OVER TO THE DEMENTORS HER GOD DAMNED SELF!_"

He scoffed, smile gone and replaced with a sadistic smirk. "You gonna hurt me, Thali?"

There it went. _Crack_. That tiny, thin barrier between morally wrong and morally right, between id and superego, between sanity and insanity snapped. And I smirked right back at him, hoping my eyes glinted like Riddles – turned _red_ like his….

"What's the meaning of all this yelling?" Madame Marche had opened her door to come and check on Riddle. The clock struck seven. She really does dedicate herself to this job. Eight hours on the mark and not a minute later. Had she waited, she'd have found me covered in blood not secreting from any wounds on me and seen Mike, staining the floor. But a good Healer never gets to her patients late.

_Incarcerous!_

Out of the thin air between Mike and I, thick ropes appeared and immediately wound themselves tightly around his bulky frame.

Emily and Madame Marche gasped; Black and Eliot lunged forward around Mike's toppling form and one grabbed my wand hand while the other pulled my hands behind my back; Malfoy eyed me through strangely guarded eyes and Nott and Lestrange both cocked interested eyebrows; Riddle eyed Mike for a second or two longer while Madame Marche worried herself, sending her lemur Patronus to, undoubtedly, Dumbledore and then slicing carefully through the thick ropes, and then his eyes fell on me. No longer dead, but agleam with a strange light, they held…pride?

Yes. Pride. Pride that my poor deranged mind and soul now imbibed like I'd so eagerly drank the Firewhiskey. Pride. His girl – _his_ Thalia – had finally shown her true colors. And they matched his. Red and black. Red blood pumping erratically through my veins. Black eyes that gleamed beyond sinisterly. Red pinprick glints in the depths of those black eyes. Blackened soul falling prey to anger and hate and fear. And we even matched there, didn't we?

Hate and fear. Hate. Fear. Hatred of anything common, similar – _not unique_, like him. Fear of Death and the dead and refusal to die – to _give in_.

My eyes caught the medallion I'd given him for Christmas as Dumbledore rushed into the room (he must have been on his way anyway) and over to Madame Marche who now struggled with Emily to bring Mike to a bed, cut up by the ropes. _Mors ultima linea rerum est_. Death. Everything's final limit. Flashes of the past circuits passed through my mind – talks with him in his dimly lit room at the orphanage about Death, him telling me about his mother dying after giving birth to him, his plans for our future. I had him figured out as far as that within seconds of hearing about Merope Gaunt – knew _why_ the irrational seemed so rational to him. I feared Death too…then…. Now, my only fear lay in losing him.

Another glance over at Mike as he writhed on the bed and the absence of any kind of remorse confirmed that for me. So, locking eyes with Riddle again despite the jarring movement of Black forcing me into a nearby chair, I smiled at him. He smiled back.

* * *

><p>It turns out you can come back to sanity when you cross over into the realm of its absence.<p>

Having seen how much both Dumbledore and Madame Marche doted on Mike, I sort of sobered up again out of frustration. I explained myself and the others filled in the rest of the blanks. Mike had come here, as he'd told Selwyn he would earlier in the empty corridor, looking for me to 'talk'. Here, I explained what that really meant and, over Mike's claims of my words' status of lies, what I'd heard them talking about. At first Dumbledore seemed to not want to believe me. But when I snapped at him that even if he had one of the Ministry reps deliver Veritaserum into my system, I'd still tell the same fucking story, he turned to Mike and asked for his wand.

Rose Selwyn, who would, in a few minutes, have to come down to confirm this one way or another, got fed to the proverbial motherfucking wolves. Mike rolled over faster than a well-trained Rottweiler after a pack of jerky and told us everything after the _Priori Incantato_ revealed that he'd used _two _illegal spells last: Cruciatus and Imperius. Granted, half this shit – the reasoning behind it anyway – I already knew or had guessed as much. But still…damn…. She _rebirthed_ the meaning of the phrase: If I can't have him, then no one can. According to Mike (and Riddle when we shared a glance at this bit) Rose had had some kind of 'romantic encounter' with Riddle less than a year ago and had taken it to mean more than what "he'd wanted from her" (Mike's words, so prettyful, no?). The ensuing resentment only worsened when she saw him giving me the attention that she never got and this progressed throughout the school year, culminating in the formulating of a plan between her and Mike the week term started again. The reason she chose Mike of all people to confide in, according to Mike, lay in the similarity of their situations and desired goals and in their proximity to each piece of their plan.

She would pay five hundred Galleons to Mike if he could just snipe my wand and attack Riddle viciously with it without getting caught. The perfect venue presented itself to her when she couldn't get a hold of Riddle for more than a few minutes at a time (due to so much practice) during their rounds to start planting seeds of doubt against me in his head: the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game. On paper, it seemed well-planned. Get Riddle to remember where I supposedly come from – a controversial, Dark magic school. Then, when he gets attacked and finds out that it came from my wand, I face expulsion from Hogwarts and Riddle's life, unable to prove that I didn't do anything. But, along with Selwyn's failure to plant her seeds, Mike's attitude and downright stupidity made it fail. His attitude made him averse to me and his one attempt to swipe my wand (the night of the staircase shit, it turns out) failed completely because I didn't even have my wand with me then. So, he ended up having to use his wand and Selwyn didn't turn Riddle against me.

Selwyn would not have Riddle all to herself and Mike would not 'rescue' me from Azkaban or – as he most recently planned in light of his failed plan – 'steal' me away from Riddle. Dumbasses.

"You sent for me, Professor Dumbledore?" Selwyn asked from the door of the Hospital Wing.

I stiffened and Black laid a warning hand on my shoulder.

Have you ever held a magnifying glass over an ant and seen how it runs around trying to escape the ray of extreme heat? Forgive me, if this offends those of who don't like the idea of that, but Rose Selwyn, while getting interrogated, reminded me of one of those ants. She just kept avoiding the questions and even refused to talk at one point. But a well-placed hint at her father's involvement requiring very few arrangements at this juncture got her to open up. She talked and talked and talked some more. She talked so much that, despite the many tries that Dumbledore (and even Madame Marche and a desperate Mike) made to make her see the illogical thought behind her words, she kept herself out of getting charged with Conspiracy to Murder. She claimed that, although she did say I'd end up in Azkaban for apparently committing the crime, she'd "never told Mr. Parkinson to use the Cruciatus specifically." When Dumbledore asked her how she expected me to end up in Azkaban if she didn't intend the usage of an illegal form of magic, she answered that it would happen so if Riddle had died. Then, when he asked her how she expected to keep him for herself if he died, she just giggled and said that she hadn't really thought that far ahead in her plan and "just wanted Riddle back."

I tried to share another glance with Riddle then, but he didn't glance back. He'd taken to staring intently at Selwyn, a deep, dark furrow in between his eyes and a somewhat skeptical yet unsure leer in them. The same thing probably ran through both of our minds just then: _is she out of her blonde mind?_

The four Ministry reps that had come to help find the culprit had already joined us as well as Dippet and now stood, shocked, by the door. They'd probably never, in their lives, ever seen such disregard for human life in such _young_ people – oh, and especially in a _lady_ of _High Society_ or _Pure-blood_. It didn't faze them for long, though. Right away they took Mike away and suggested that Selwyn speak to her father, brother and the Minister himself down at the Ministry if she wanted to avoid a scene. She went quietly but smugly. She would not face charges – not big ones, in any case.

"His wand will be destroyed as soon as we get there."

"Is there any hope that he may not face the maximum sentence?" asked Dumbledore of the first representative who'd informed him of what would happen to Mike's wand. He let his gaze fall to Mike sadly and that reminded me fiercely of what I'd accused him of earlier.

_Is that guilt that I sense? …No. He didn't _attack_ Riddle himself…but he did let him fall…. You're sticking with that, aren't you? …I am and you know why. He could have easily saved Riddle today if he wanted to. He just didn't want to…._

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Riddle asked me later that night as we ate the dinner that Madame Marche had asked the elves to bring up for us.<p>

Swallowing a mouthful of sausage and beans, I nodded. "I'm fine."

He sighed and put down his fork. "Come here," he said softly.

Arching an eyebrow in confusion I stood from my seat at the side of his bed and took his proffered hand. "Are we gonna be cheesy again?" I asked tightly, trying for humor but not really feeling it.

He shook his head. "No. I think we're past that, don't you?"

Laughing a little, I nodded.

"I just noticed you're particularly angry tonight."

"Particularly? Meaning, I'm always at least a little angry?"

"Sort of. There's always a baseline for every emotion. I know all of my friends' baselines and I pay particular attention to yours," he explained, letting his gaze roam over my confused face. "Lately, you've been _very_ angry."

"Legilimency?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

He smiled. "Yes and there it is…." He studied me a bit more. "You don't like to be read – to be understood."

"I do."

"Not particularly. You didn't like it when Black told me about your jumping out of the stands."

"I didn't even know –"

"– please, Thalia, you've been dying to ask me about Legilimency since then – your excitement jumped and so did your annoyance." He smiled warmly. "Ask away."

I shook my head, returning the smile weakly. "Another time, yeah? I…kind of…I don't know…." I really didn't. I'd gone from happy, _ecstatic_ that Riddle felt proud of me to…well…angry. Angry at myself. Three guesses why. I mean, okay, Mike deserved the shit I did to him and worse, but still... I'd done something worthy of Riddle's pride and that felt like the biggest reality check….

He nodded and gave a weak smile too before bringing my hand to his lips.

I smirked. "I thought you said no cheesy."

He breathed a laugh against the skin of the back on my hand and sent chills and tingles up and down my spine like when he'd kissed that spot the first time. "This isn't cheese. This is manners."

I laughed too and reached up to ruffle his hair, leaving it tousled and with some strands falling over his eyes. He scoffed a laugh and tried to push them back, but they fell untidily back down again so he just smiled up at me. A natural beauty never seemed more literal to me than now as his eyes, nowhere near dead or even seeming like they'd ever even gotten close to dead, danced. The nostalgia-like feeling I got months ago in this very room returned, except this time I could not define it as heartbreak. No, this time the nostalgia consisted of warmth, happiness, peace, fondness, a frantic sort of desperation that gave way to pulses of…relief, it seemed. Love would fit perfectly to describe that, honestly, but I promised no more cheese, so…

Still smiling warmly, I bent down a little to look him in the eyes. Staring into them for a couple of minutes, my smile waned a bit. "Please don't ever put me through this day again."

He smirked and gave my hand a squeeze, letting it fall to his lap. "Only one day full of instinct-crushing stupidity, panic driven drunkenness, pre-relationship drama and conspiracies for murder per every couple of months of our relationship, I swear."

Scoffing a laugh, I swatted his arm again and then pulled him gently forward, careful to not knock over his plate. "I…" I began a bit nervously. The swelling in my chest made me want to do something that I knew I shouldn't. The battle raged fiercely within me as I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at him, gnawing on my lip. Neither side would cave. Both sides had a valid argument: I do love Riddle. But we only made this official three weeks ago. The time had not come yet. So, I picked a side. Smiling, I just leaned in for a tight hug.

* * *

><p>"When did he say Ollivander was supposed to get here?" I asked Riddle over breakfast the next day at the Slytherin table.<p>

News had spread like wildfire of Mike's arrest and Selwyn's involvement like we'd known it would. We'd fully expected to get bombarded with questions and berated with demands for recounts of everything that happened from the Cruciatus to the jump to the uncovering of the plot to the arrest. We knew we'd probably have to answer questions all day, and I worried. I didn't want him to have to answer any more questions. He'd already gone through similar shit and didn't need this now – especially having just healed. But, like a trooper, he'd smirked at my grimace and sent me off to shower and change while he did the same and then saved us seats at the Slytherin table. Bold move. But hey, now we sat here, in peace, eating breakfast with Black to my left Emily to his right and Eliot across from her. I know. I did a double taken when I came down and approached with caution. But, like I said: all calm and clear of drama.

"He's here already," answered Riddle, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "He's just getting his materials ready."

I nodded, saying, "Ah, okay." Then I grimaced. "I liked your wand, though."

He shrugged with a slight grimace too. "Me too, but what can we do?"

Shrugging, I nodded in agreement with that and went back to my dish.

Twenty minutes later, a tiny, familiar girl stepped up to Riddle. "Um, Tom?" she almost squeaked.

Arching an elegant eyebrow, Riddle turned to her. "Yes, Connie?"

Connie. Right. First person to talk to me after I crawled out of the lake this circuit. She seemed braver, then.

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to tell you that Mr. Ollivander is ready for you now," she said a bit more calmly after returning my smile and then stepped aside as Riddle rose from the table.

"Thank you, Connie."

"You're welcome."

He tossed me a knowing, sideways glance and, after I nodded once, strode off.

The rest of us continued talking.

"What are you guys going to do for a captain now?" Black asked Eliot as Emily shifted over into Riddle's seat.

I didn't hear Eliot's response, though because she asked, "Did he yell at you?" Her eyes reflected a worry so strong that even I, not knowing what the fuck she meant, felt my stomach clench.

But I got over it. "What? Yell at me for what? Drinking? Why? He was drinking too."

She shook her head, flapping her hands at me to shut up. "No, no, no. I meant for jumping. He asked me why I'd let you jump and –"

"– did he yell at you?"

"No, but he seemed…disappointed. I told him that I tried but Eliot pulled me back and by the time he turned to pull you too you'd already flipped over. Thali, I'm sorry I got you in trouble." She grimaced tightly and blinked back moisture in her eyes as her cheeks turned red.

"Got me in trouble? Emily, stop being stupid for two seconds," I told her, turning in my seat to her. Bringing my hands up to face level (a piece of toast in my right hand) to get her to focus on me and me alone, I spoke: "_I_ jumped off of the stands. _I_. _Me_. Not _you_ – _me_. Okay?" She kept her grimace. I sighed. "Look, as…" I paused and smiled reluctantly, shaking my head. "…as sweet as it is that he worried to the point of making you think he was gonna yell at me, he has no right to make you feel like this. The next time he tries that shit, you tell him to stick it where it hurts the most."

"Stick what where? Where does it hurt the most?"

"Christ on a cracker," I whispered to myself and shook my head. "Never mind. Look, he didn't yell at me and we're cool. Just don't let him make you feel guilty. You're not my mother. You can't control me." Turning back around in my seat, I went back to picking at my food.

"I am my brother's keeper," said Emily, suddenly breaking her silence about five minutes later and causing me to scrunch up my forehead and face her.

"What?"

"I am my brother's keeper. It can go for women too, right?" she asked sternly, grasping my shoulder.

Well, fuck. I didn't expect this…not yet, anyway. Nodding, I answered, "Yeah…totally…."

She smiled and lightly shoved my shoulder.

I smiled back and shoved hers back.

"Eleven inches. Holly. Phoenix tail-feather core," Riddle told us a bit later as we all passed his wand around and he finished eating a second bowl of cereal. Shrugging, he added, "I'm not too sure about the length – the other one was thirteen inches – but the flow's good. No stemming or blocking."

Rolling it between my fingers, admiring how it still had that new-wand shine and trying to put my finger on something in the back of my head, I asked, "You already did magic with it?"

He shook his head, smiling with his eyes agleam. "That's the best part. I haven't yet."

I smirked and handed it back to him, still unable to place my finger on the elusive little something in the back of my mind. "Try it now. Disarm me."

He nodded and, making sure that no one would see him, he flicked his wand most indiscernibly at me and, from my pocket, came whirling out my own wand with incredible speed and he caught it swiftly. Smiling somewhat toothily, he handed it back and pocketed his own. "Good flow."

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><p>"Where the fuck did that come from?" I asked of the old man who stood next to me, hand hovering over his own black-sanded hourglass again. I couldn't tear my eyes from the projected scene of the essence of the glass that she and I shared – couldn't see past what had just happened, the deviation. Neither could he. What had my earthbound half <em>done<em>?


	17. Forever Young

**A/N:** Ufff you guys...nah no more writer's block. I kind of got adled with the opposite this time o.O I tried wirting this chapter so many times and in so many different directions for almost two weeks. And then I saw one of those commercials about some Valentine's Day shit or other and I decided: you know what? Fuck it. I need a laugh and so do my minion-readers. Plus I needed to get a shitload of info across - in the minutest details, though - and this was the best way I could see to do it considering the ending and everything to come. Let me tell you guys, those of you who read, add, review, follow, etc. etc., you guys make my whole damn day. When I see one of those emails telling me that you guys added/reviewed and also when I see the traffic jump up in my story, my heart smiles. I can't thank you guys enough for following along in this tedious road. All I can say is, really, I love you guys and hopefully you stick with me throughout the whole of my TomxThalia story because there's so much left to tell. **mspstar97**, I'm flattered . Really I am. Thank you. I really strive to make my writing interactive so my readers don't get bored or feel like it's too repetative and I'm glad you enjoy it. As for that bit about Thalia's half: yep, read on to see what's up with that besides how she got there. **FadedSunset**, I've updated! Lol. And well, yeah, those two have a load of issues that I'll cover a bit more here in this chapter and later on as well. I think you'll love the sheer drama with Selwyn here jaja. Enjoy, love! **Dustfinger's cheering section**, YAY! I'm glad you truly like this and read through all of that and actually caught the bit about the wand that I'd come to think no one would catch (my friends with me here in NYC didn't even catch that bit and they saw me writing the chapter). To answer your question, though, upz you just need to read on. Hint: it has a bit to do with this chapter and the one following it and shit that will come up MUCH later. I hope I'm not being a bitch by doing that lol but I have to keep the suspense up, right? Anyway, thanks for taking the time to review and having patience =) **Chamilia Lutien Tinuviel**, yes! Harry's Wand! I know, I'm evil. But hey, you knew that going in because you saw the pairing of the fanfic. Who of the people who do Tom R. Jr. fics doesn't have a bit of a demon in them? Anyway, I'm glad you broke your style a bit to read this OC fic =) You're awesome for that and for reviewing after sticking with the story. Keep reading and you'll understand it all, I promise.

Guys, I know I work kind of viciously with the tiniest details and that that can be rather annoying, but hey, it's me. What can I say? =) I just do it in the hope that it'll pique your interest and that you guys will let me know in any way, shape or form that you like the story. Hopefully the translations don't break too much into that - I try to keep them to a minimum. Anyway, this chapter...hmm. Like I said: I really needed a laugh because there's just so much drama about this day that I couldn't resist. Plus, the plot within it - the details that kind of pick up from other details I'd written in previous chapters and the like - kind of builds upon itself now and leads you to where I want you guys to explore within your own analyzing of the story. I'd be totally psyched if you guys started telling me what you think is going on. I know, I sound like a teacher, but I like that part of literature: analyzing. It's awesome. Anyway, read on, my dear minions. I shall bore you no more! Just one more thing: **credit to Edwin McCain for the song _I'll Be_**

ENJOY! and you know what to do

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Sixteen: _Forever Young_**

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><p><em>"Come, come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools: they have need of 'em: wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation, and let Father Time shake his glass." – William Congreve<em>

* * *

><p>"So, uh, Spain…" began Black later that day, in the same spot we'd had breakfast and lunch in, a bit hesitantly but in a theatrically exaggerated way. You could see the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth clearer than the bloody sun streaming in through the ceiling of the Great Hall. "…are you going to answer Emily's question?"<p>

I rolled my eyes. Of course. I really couldn't blame him, though. I'd want to know in his position as well – and for the same reason: sheer amusement. Can you see why I get along so well with him? But, no, I would not answer her question. I just couldn't tell him I wouldn't because he'd make me answer one way or another (like I'd make him answer if he were in my shoes) and with Riddle busied at the moment in Dippet's office, getting himself acquainted with his new patrol partner and learning what fate Selwyn faces, I couldn't really expect salvation from his implementation of his status as Head Death Eater. No, I would need to execute my own escape from this one. So, I looked up, opened my mouth a bit shyly, as if about to answer sheepishly, but then something 'caught' my eye behind him.

"What?" he asked, furrowing his brow and glancing over his shoulder toward the entrance hall. And I only needed that.

Flicking my wand twice within my pocket and thinking the proper spells, I got my way. An explosion-like burst of simple wind rocked the door of the entrance hall from the smaller chamber itself and blew it half off of its hinges (just as Peeves swooped out of the Hall, having finished his harassment of two first year Hufflepuffs no less) while the second spell, dripping familiarly down my form, encased me in a shield of Disillusionment. Gasps and even some curses rounded the Hall and Black, along with Emily and Eliot, jumped out of his seat to go see what the fuck happened. In the meantime, I just slipped off of the bench and walked right out of the Hall and to the marble staircase. Subtlety didn't much matter here for I had enough cover from the din in here for my footsteps and even my snickering.

Still trying to figure out what question Emily could have asked that would make me purposely destroy school property so I wouldn't have to answer it? Yeah, I figured you would. Anyway, look, before I get to that, can we please keep in mind one thing: I'm fucking pissed. Okay? Understood? Just because the Ministry stepped in with Mike and Selwyn and have to – by law – administer _some_ kind of punishment (of course, one's being more severe than the other's because that's how it fucking works) it doesn't mean that I _forgot_. Who in their right God damn mind would? I mean – and forgive me if you don't make up part of the group of people of which I speak – but did these idiots think that this shit could just get swept under the rug like nothing?

Selwyn planned to kill Riddle. Mike carried it out – ineffectively, but he tried.

I know: written down, it seems like nothing or maybe you can see the big deal, but you probably can't see the depth to which that shit can cut someone up. Or maybe you can and I just…ugh. I don't know, man. But you understand me, right? Riddle. _My_ Tom – my reason for still even breathing – fell victim to inane and childish jealous rivalry. Mike _hurt_ him because Selwyn asked him to under false hopes of _bullshit_ and for a few Galleons.

Mike – the guy who had fit into my life here because I could actually see eye to eye with him on so many things (hating the likes of Selwyn having been the first, if you recall), the dude who honestly and sincerely could have ended up with my heart in his hands in another world where Riddle and his hatred for him didn't exist. He hurt the man I love. Where I come from, that marks you for worse than death no matter what or who or _when_ gets in the fucking way. Now, they'd already dragged his ass to Azkaban and, surely, he'll get the maximum sentence because not only does his physical stature ensure a long sentence in there but also because he has no strings to pull in the M.O.M. So, I can't release what has manifested itself in me toward him. Not yet, anyway.

But Selwyn did have strings and had promptly yanked on them to bring down the whole of the Wizengamot. No stint in Azkaban or even a suspension of her magic. But fuck it. She'd eventually have to show her face here….

How can I better explain this shit? I feel like I haven't done it justice….

Some would probably compare it to a shaken can of soda or perhaps one of those two-liter bottles after you drop a pack of Mentos in it. Some would call it a crucible kind of thing in terms of the pressure I've accumulated in just a few hours. But it doesn't even come close. I think the best I can come up with would remain – even years from now – to refer back to the snapping of the mental wall in the Hospital Wing last night right before Madame Marche came out. That ripping, popping, tearing, snapping and absolute obliteration of the barrier one builds all their life between the two realms – sanity and insanity, right and wrong – if one understands clearly the effort that has gone into its construction and maintenance, can clearly describe the power of the rage within me. I know, it doesn't really fall in line so well, but at the same time…nothing could do so in a clearer fashion. I mean, you know me. I don't claim perfect mental stability – would never even try to because I think you kind of need a bit of instability to function with a certain level of moral consciousness – but I pretty much know what the fuck I have control over and don't and so on and so on touching on each and every limit of the human form. And last night…last night every line blurred and I felt like…like I could do the impossible: be here _and_ there, touch _both_ extremes of magic without straining and without consequence, be both Dark _and_ Light – Human _and_ Indestructible. Do I explain myself properly?

No, I suppose I don't. But I tried my best. If I can come up with a better picture, I'll paint it for you. But for now, just keep that in mind: it's there, within me, this rage that makes me feel this way. It hasn't gone. And people know this – I _know_ they can feel this – _Riddle_ especially if he told me the truth about the emotion reading shit last night – and yet they still feel the need to ask me silly questions befitting the likes of Lavender fucking Brown…or Emily Brown.

_Fuck. My. Life…. Oh, come on, as if _you_ didn't wonder about that yourself even if it was just half a second…. Shut it…. Uh-huh, that's what I thought. _"What are you and Tom doing next month for Valentine's Day?" She'd asked me that. _That_. For _fuck's_ sake! Of all the mindless…. But the Realist had kind of sort of maybe possibly hit the nail right on the middle edge of the top of its head….

I mean, come on. Who hasn't? And it really didn't occur to me until she'd asked but then I couldn't shut the little squeaky voice I'd developed just this morning in the back of my head up about it. Valentine's Day. Ugh. And yet…. _Sigh? …_Shut_ it…._

I'd walked absently around and around until I spotted the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office and decided, why not? I might as well warn Riddle of what awaits him for his next meeting with Emily. And, anyway, I needed to talk to him about a few things: Legilimency, Selwyn, what he'd meant that I don't like to be read or understood…. So, I trudged slowly, kind of somberly, over to the gargoyle and leaned against the piece of wall beside it.

"Hey," I said a little while later as Riddle turned out from the space revealed by the split wall that the gargoyle usually guarded in its whole form.

He spun on the spot, brows furrowed and eyes searching the hall, glinted, for the owner of the voice. Then he stared right at me, most likely having felt the magic I emanated in a low hum for maintaining the spell, and only then did I remember that I still had my charm on.

Pulling it off, I pushed off of the wall and smiled kind of weakly up at him.

The crease in his forehead eased up and he returned the smile rather stronger yet still a bit weakly. "Hey," he answered and took up my hand in an automatic flick of the wrist. "Who were you hiding from?"

I shrugged. "Emily." He breathed a soft laugh. "How did it go?" We began to walk the other way down the corridor from which I'd come and he made that side to side head bobbing movement accompanied by a slight grimace that meant 'so-so'.

"I suppose Greengrass isn't so bad. But mark my words; I'm not going to hear the end of it from her about Selwyn." His voice held a sort of skeptically bitter and sarcastic tone and I kind of latched onto that.

"Why? She knows what that bitch –" he shot me a sideways 'come on, now' look "– well she _is_ a bitch. Anyway, Greengrass knows what she did, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, but that's not what this is about." I arched an eyebrow expectantly. He sighed tiredly. "You have to listen to everything I'm going to tell you before you react, okay?" I only furrowed my brow but he continued with a sort of knowingly-pained, doomed grimace. "Rose never told me and the only reason I even know is because last night she was practically screaming it at me," he explained unhelpfully. I narrowed my eyes questioningly and gave a confused tilt of the head. He inhaled deeply and, in a monotone rush, pushed out: "She got pregnant last semester. But she lost the baby over the summer – ectopic, I think."

The wind didn't get knocked out of me. I didn't sputter. I didn't even stop walking alongside him or lose the pace. I just stared ahead of me, trapped in thought. Well, honestly, had I expected much less? No. Hell no. In fact, the only surprise that presented itself to me as of yet remained that _more_ girls didn't claim to have carried Riddle's baby. Don't get it twisted. I do believe Selwyn. Actually it kind of made sense: the level of insanity that fueled her little plan, the strange look Riddle was giving her the night before when he didn't notice me looking at him, and the sheer anger behind everything she did. Based solely on the simple fact that I have two X-chromosomes, I could understand Selwyn…to a degree that, I think, fell wayyy short of what she did. Nodding, I breathed a soft laugh.

Riddle eyed me like I'd gone mad.

"You're worried Greengrass is gonna hound you about Selwyn having lost a baby in a manner that you honestly couldn't have really done anything about?" I asked him incredulously and bit back a snicker.

He continued to eye me as he had and then shrugged a bit. "Not worried…just perturbed, I guess."

Here I laughed again and then nodded. "Fine. Whatever. But you shouldn't even stress it, Riddle. What the fuck were you gonna do about that? Work it out backward: she lost the baby – whichever way, ectopic, stairs, or whatever – and she's all broken up over it. Okay. So what? Did she ever tell you? Even now, after the fact, no, she never told you." I registered his increasingly creased forehead and smirked. "So, why, pray motherfucking tell, should anyone even _try_ to hound you about that? _You_ mark _my_ words, Riddle: if Greengrass has even the tiniest drop of decency and _class_ left in her _name_, she'll not mention Selwyn to you even if she drops dead in front of the two of you." I hadn't noticed it, but now that I paused to make sure he absorbed what I'd said, I felt my chest heaving with the deep breaths I took to calm my thumping heart. Anger had snuck its way into my veins kicking the muscle into second gear. "It was a dirty move from the start, Riddle. If she didn't tell you, it was because she was either going to get rid of it herself or she wanted to wait until she could absolutely make sure to trap you. And save the embarrassment excuse for someone who's stupid enough to listen," I snapped at him when he looked ready to cut me off, "because you and I both know her. Shame can only darken so deep into such a shallow, cold-blooded person and she has none to begin with, so why even bother making excuses for her?"

He smirked now. "Good argument, Espinoza. But you're still letting jealousy blind you. Or maybe it's pure anger, I don't know or care right now because it's wrong: she may have had those plans at some point, like you say. But even so, do you think something as simple as losing the baby would have kept her from trying to continue on with 'trapping' me?" I sucked my teeth. I could see his next bit before he even spit it out with the same venom with which he'd spat that mess out at me. "I don't. I think she would have insisted because tradition speaks volumes with people of her caliber and class and if she wasn't pregnant anymore, then she could easily have gotten pregnant again and quickly just to save face publicly for having claimed such a thing. No, I think the fact that she never told me even after the fact makes it clear as day that she is, to some degree, ashamed of _something_."

Shaking my head and letting it sink in, everything he'd just said to me – the shanking about class and caliber as applied to tradition and me – I snickered and scathingly shot back, "Might not that _something_ be that the baby was _yours_?" And before he could retaliate to that, I finished it off, "That's what fucks idiots like you up in the first place: you place so much store in _correctness_ and _tradition_ and fucking _respect_ without even checking to see if the parameters call for that shit. But, fine, Riddle, if you want to be tied to some crazy bitch that wanted to kill you because _she_ couldn't keep her fucking legs closed, then go ahead. That's _real_ fucking classy."

Turning into the next corner with a picked up pace, and having ripped my hand from his, I cast another, more powerful charm on myself similar to the Disillusionment Charm (_Nomeveasevos_) and then stopped walking to climb onto the sill of a nearby window. From there, I watched as Riddle, who apparently had gotten past the shock or whatever had detained him, rushed into the corridor and walked a few paces before he noticed that no one else walked the same corridor. He saw nothing and, thanks to the higher capacity for coverage of this spell, felt nothing of my magic.

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><p>"But what do you mean?"<p>

I sucked my teeth and rolled over on my bed to face Emily, who sat on hers, cross-legged, with our DADA textbook open on her knees. I'd just informed her of Riddle's latest placement in the 'Assholes' category and she didn't understand. "Did you know about him and Selwyn?"

She looked up at me, wide-eyed. She'd misunderstood. "Oh my goodness. Did he…has he been…?"

I shook my head and sucked my teeth again in frustration. "_No_. I mean last year. Did you know that they were…you know…?"

She grimaced. "Sort of. I mean, Rose only ever said a few things in the ladies' rooms when she thought she was only with Olivia, but you can tell they had something going on that went beyond hand-holding."

I scoffed softly, feeling a bit defeated, and shrugged before rolling back over onto my back.

"Thalia…" she began softly, trying for understanding, I guess. "…look, I know something as stupid as who he's been with in the past wouldn't get you this upset – if it did, you would've said something last night…. And I know you don't want to talk about it, so I won't ask you…." She spoke softly still in the otherwise empty dormitory. Midafternoon on a Sunday in the middle of winter didn't exactly call for full dormitories. "But maybe you should stop and think for a minute," she continued just as quietly. "Tom cares a _lot_ about you. He'd…I think he'd do anything to keep you happy."

I rolled my eyes. Of course, Emily would have the mushiest shit to say about any bad situation despite not even knowing anything about it.

"I think he loves you, Thali. He's not really the type to, you know, settle down. But for you…well, his actions speak for themselves…." She paused but I didn't even soften my glare at the ceiling. "Whatever may or may not have happened…do you think it's worth throwing away what you have with him?"

At this point, usually the leading lady caves and says some shit about nothing getting in the way of her love and blah blah blah, right? Well, no. Not here and not with me. See, this little thing called Chaos Theory and its sub-point the Butterfly Effect have bugged me since the first time I ever did this shit – Traveling, I mean. I definitely haven't helped you guys to understand how fucking with Time really can result in extremely deadly situations, but – and you can attest to this – I haven't done so only because I've had more important shit to think about than everyone else: me. That standing presented and made fully understandable to you, I need to bring to your attention one other thing: I'm not a fucking idiot. I know shit has gone _awry_, to say the very least.

Did you really think that, having my memories of the last six circuits back and in line, I wouldn't acknowledge the deep shit I've somehow gotten myself into? Did you think I didn't notice the drastic difference between what happened then and what has happened now? Hopefully, you didn't. But, look, here goes how that (noticing the deviation from all the other circuits of Mike trying to kill Riddle at Selwyn's orders) relates to this Riddle-Selwyn-baby shit: tradition. It boils right down to that. Because, in the end, I've messed with that the most, haven't I? I think so. Yes, the other smaller shit comes into play as well, but the last bit I said to Riddle just made me see what the fuck I really have done. And, again, tradition has much to say here. He's grown up here, in this traditional mien and manner, and I haven't. The people that have surrounded him his whole life – whether Muggle or Magical – have and always will have a higher sense of tradition and plain _class_ than I do. Difference of social status could rear its ugly head here, but not so much as tradition because it comes from there, right? Traditions gives birth to social status. And I have none of what he's seen his entire life whether in the orphanage (in a time where ladies still wear dresses and sandals and not ripped jeans and combat boots) or here in Hogwarts. I don't belong here…. I don't.

I could love him all I want and want to protect him from every bad thing out there, including his own damned self, but I had to face reality: I don't have business here besides protecting my own world. Facing that reality, I had to also face another: Rose Selwyn had lost her baby and no matter what insanity followed that, it was still a very sad experience for her for whatever reason or reasons she may have had to be sad about it, none of which were any of my business. I could admit to myself now, when only Emily sat near me, trying to convince me of Riddle's love for me, and without his judging eyes, that _that_ had pushed me into my own anger. Selwyn's pain – _actual_ pain – over something so _real_ and Riddle's seemingly sincere sympathy toward her. Because sincere did lay among the qualities of his tone as he berated me with Selwyn's defense. Despite his annoyance at having to hear about it from Greengrass, he felt sorry for Selwyn. I could face that and admit that it had bothered me and a lot.

But why? If the sincerity only mean that, again, without my trying his path had veered away from the one he'd followed originally, then why did it bother me so? _Because you know that you have nothing left to do here and you know that if you keep going you're bound to fuck something up beyond any kind of repair…. And didn't I say before that, in light of caring about _me_ now, it doesn't fucking matter – that I'll take him as is? …Hey, it's your conscience that's eating at you. I'm just helping you see it... Do you think I should stop here and just ride things out peacefully? …I don't know anymore…. Are you really so far gone? …And it's your fault…._

I sighed and sat up in the bed. "You're right," I told Emily to stop her from worrying and to give me an excuse to leave the room.

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><p>I knew he would eventually find me. Emily had said it right: he loves me. He may not even realize it yet, but he does. I guess I myself didn't really want to either despite a part of me screaming for the day that he'd say he does because it would mean having to accept the guilt I'd birthed over flat-out ignoring all the rules and even my own original feelings. But, again: this shit's written in the stars; it's supposed to happen.<p>

I'd gone to the stretch of wall where Tom had taken me about a month before on the night of Slughorn's last dinner party, right across from the ballerina trolls, upon leaving the common room. I may not have had all of my faculties about me that night when he first did whatever kind of magic on that wall to make it turn into that common room. But I could more or less determine what he did and how that kind of matched up with some stories I'd heard about a similar sort of wall from my time. Not to mention, I already knew how to work the Come and Go Room from my memories. So, I walked back and forth three times in front of the blank wall and, when I stopped, I faced a normal looking door, different from the red, green-trimmed door that usually led to _our_ common room.

It had worked, what I'd asked for. I stepped into the room and found it bare save for a chair that supported a plain old wooden guitar leaned against its feet and a window in the opposite wall. Closing the door behind me, I stepped over to the window: it looked out over the side of the castle that faced most of the Black Lake and a great stretch of forest. The sun shined brilliantly today and lit up the bare, half wood-paneled, half stone room stunningly. I know, so much description for one tiny room. But, and take note, people, because I know that eventually you'll appreciate what the fuck I tell you, the simple things make life all that much more worth living. There – that marked my last bit of cheese…for a while…I promise…maybe….

Anyway, I walked back over to the chair and picked up the guitar before plopping down with a soft sigh. I'd never really had any real talent on any instrument, nor did I really try past learning a few songs from the radio. But, hey, for now and for me, it seemed good enough.

I strummed and felt the vibration of a new kind of magic course through me as the sounds bounced out to the wall and back at me. Sighing softly in contentedness, I started up, smoother, trying to release the guilt and make room for what I knew needed preference right now….

"_And rain falls…angry on the tin roof – as we lie a-wake in my be-ed_," I sang for what probably marked the third or fourth time in an hour. "_You're my survival – you're my living proof…my love is alive – and not de-ead._" Strumming the guitar almost perfectly, I leaned forward in the chair, preparing for the oncoming need for air. "_Tell me…that we belong together. Dress it up – with the trappings of lo-oove. I'll be-e cap-ti-vated – I'll ha-ang from your lips…instead of the gal-lows of heartache that hang from abo-oooove!_"

The door closed with a soft _click_ that yanked me almost painfully out of my world.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Riddle!" I complained, turning to him, brows furrowed and scowling. He'd scared me. Caught me singing.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked, genuinely confused it seemed.

Still scowling, I put the guitar down, bottom first, and wrapped my hands around the neck, leaning a bit on it. "You scared me."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Now can you continue?" Leaning back against the door, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited expectantly.

I scoffed. "Uh-huh. Sure," I answered, nodding sardonically and stood, leaning the guitar against the seat again. I hadn't expected him to show up so soon. I'd planned to have vanished the guitar by the time he'd showed up, but I got caught up in that song and…well, here I stood now, my face burning and scowling. "Look, I needed to talk to you anyway, so I'm glad you're here."

He seemed to want to sigh and then straightened up, pulling his wand out. With a graceful wave he conjured up a chair and then gestured for me to sit there while he strode over the one I'd just stood from. I sat and watched him take up the instrument as he sank into his seat and jerked his chin at me nonchalantly to continue.

I spoke. He plucked at the strings a bit sporadically, not making any real music. Fucking around, basically. "Look, I kind of flipped out before, but…"

He'd started to chuckle and now looked up, his eyes not showing the cynicism I'd expected them to. Instead, they shone warmly and…sedately apologetic? "Thalia, you don't always have to apologize for losing it," he told me, still plucking the strings absently. With a nod and a look of sincere acceptance, he continued. "You're right, anyway. I felt sorry for Selwyn because, well, I can't imagine losing a child being anything easy. But what you said is right." He stared at me, boring into my eyes, seemingly reading me or gauging my reaction to his words. "She should have said something and science – not to mention _magic_ – Is very advanced now so as to know right away if she'd told me the truth in any case. But seeing as she didn't, then there's no need for such strict protocol."

Welcome to the 90s, Tom Riddle. I almost laughed, but held it back and then nodded, leaning forward to put my elbows on my knees and cradle my face in my hands. In a frustrated tone, I spoke again, "I still shouldn't have…you know, snapped at you." And smiling fondly at him, I finished off with a gentle jibe: "You were just doing what you always do: being the perfect gentleman."

He smirked at that and then turned his attention back to the guitar. "What song was that?" he asked after a bit of silence in which he'd played some old, familiar sounding tune and I'd just watched him.

"Mm?"

"The one you were singing," he provided, trying now to match the chords I'd plucked and strummed.

A brick of ice threatened to drop into my stomach but I kept it at bay. I didn't feel so guilty or scared anymore about breaking Laws of Time blah. "Oh, it's just something my brother and I were working on a while back."

His gaze shot up to mine, shocked, and then softened. "Your brother?"

I nodded, smiling. I think 'fuck it' covers this, right? "Yeah. Jorge Paz – he took my mother's name. He used to try to teach me, but I could never really, you know, grasp it." I finished off with a soft sigh and then leaned back in my chair, reminiscing. I hadn't lied. Jorge could play guitar better than Santana and did try to teach me. But like I said, I never had any real talent there.

He nodded, smiling warmly too. "Is he still in Spain?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I dunno. He…well, I haven't seen him since, I think, last December…." Again, not a lie. Jorge had gone off to do God knows what for the Ministry and we barely saw him anymore save for holidays and shit. The night the Ministry fell, he hadn't even planned to come to London, I knew, but I guess Dad sent him a message with his Patronus while we ran down to the atrium without me noticing (this is only a guess because I never made it home that night anyway, remember?) and he came home for that. "I don't know what's happened to him," I ended stalely.

He nodded thoughtfully and then lifted the guitar toward me. "Sing for me," he commanded with a soft smile.

I scoffed. "Uy, no jodas. Estás loco.*" I smirked and playfully nudged away the guitar only to have him laugh and push it into my lap. Reluctantly I took it up so it wouldn't fall and then stared down at it pensively.

"At least finish the rest of the song," he said reasonably and then, grimacing a bit, I nodded.

"Fine…." I adjusted the guitar in my lap, leaned forward and cleared my throat. But before I began, I warned him. "Laugh and die. Understood?"

He scoffed, sniggering softly, and nodded.

Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and strummed through the last verse before going on to the chorus preceding the bridge. I noted, highly aware of why I even started singing this song, that…well, you'll see. It won't present difficult at all to notice even in him. "_I'll be…your cry-ing shoul-de-er…I-I'll be…love's sui-ci-ide…I'll be…be-etter when I'm olde-er, I-I'll be…the greatest – fan of your liiiiiife – and I've – dropped out – I've burned up – I've fought my way back from the de-eeead! I've tuned in – turned on – reme-em-bered the things – that you – saiiiiid!_" And with one last pass through the chorus, I ended the song, eyes still shut.

"Who were you in love with?" he asked softly, gently penetrating the residual warmth left by the vibrations of the music.

"What?" I asked, confused, and snapped my eyes open to see him. Where had he gotten that I'd fallen in love with anyone before I met him? Didn't he understand the song, this boy? And then I remembered what I'd said. Snorting a bit with laughter at the stiffly and mordantly cocked eyebrow, I shook my head and clarified, "Not me. I just helped my brother with the lyrics and some of the chords. Other than that, it's mostly his work." Look, don't judge me. I think Edwin McCain wouldn't mind me lying so much if he knew that it kind of sort of kept me alive here.

"Hmm," he uttered, nodding, but didn't lower the sardonic brow. "So, why were you singing this song now?"

"How much of it did you hear, by the way?" I asked, smirking at the light accusation in his tone.

"From the strands in someone's eyes," he answered dryly.

"Ah." I nodded, still smirking and then sniggered nearly viciously. He scowled. "Wanna learn how to play it?" I asked but didn't wait for him to answer. I just pulled out my wand and tapped the guitar twice with it, making a replica of it and tilting it into his lap.

He took it up, still scowling a bit and positioned it like mine. "I'm not going to sing," he stated wryly.

"You're gonna sing or I'm not telling you who I sang it for," I warned, strumming into the first line.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom Marvolo Riddle<em>**

She made me sing with her.

Why couldn't _she_ just keep singing? She had the talent for it – despite whatever the fuck she tells you, by the way. She lies. A lot. But she sings nicely….

Her voice matches her face: soft, fair, excruciatingly beautiful to the point where bleeding for it doesn't seem odd at all….

I eventually just let her keep singing on her own. It seemed, most reciprocally, that teasing me lightly made her feel more comfortable doing so.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

He sang. Not for long – just the first half of the first verse. And then he got irritated and just sat back to listen to me sing again, glowering a bit but not interrupting. Like a fucking child, yeah. But he pulls it off. He sounded a _lot_ like Edwin himself, by the way. Just saying.

A couple of hours later, the door swung open wildly and in the doorway stood Black with Malfoy and Emily.

"Ah, I knew they'd be here. See, Emily?" said Black, smirking broadly and gesturing to us from the doorframe. "Spain and Riddle are in here making beautiful music together. Nothing to worry about."

I snorted with laughter at Emily's half-enraged glower at that bit and set aside the guitar to stand. "What's up?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. She was worried about some argument you said you'd had with him or some shit – I don't know…" he trailed off, airily waving away the thought with a shrug.

I nodded and then cocked an eyebrow at Emily. "We're good. No worries."

She released a relieved sounding breath and then smiled up at Riddle. "Are you planning to surprise her for Valentine's Day, Tom?"

"I hate you," I hissed at her and then walked over to the window to lean against the wall beside it and check the grounds out. Snow hadn't stuck from last night's fall but the chill hadn't left and traveled freely through the makeshift window now.

Riddle chuckled smoothly and shrugged leisurely, blasé. "Maybe. Maybe not. I can't really tell her roommate too much, now can I, Emily?"

Emily practically pissed herself from excitement. She gushed and gushed some more, eyes alight, before composing herself and then rushing over to me. "That-weekend-is-a-Hogsmeade-weekend-so-you-are-coming-with-me-to-get-new-clothes-and-makeup-and-I'm-making-you-over-like-the-other-nights-only-so-much-better-because-oh-my-God-you're-like-his-girlfriend-now-Thalia!"

Tearing my gaze from her, I landed it on the boys, who all just smirked cruelly at me, and then on the ground way below the outside of the window. "You're lucky," I said, turning away from the window and striding stiffly over to Riddle, dragging Emily, who'd latched onto my arm, with me. "That I don't know whether that drop will kill me or just cause me a lot of pain."

He laughed with an obscene gusto with the rest of the idiots and I stepped out of the room, waiting for him to follow. He did once they'd all calmed down and then we headed down for dinner. "You owe me a name, Espinoza," he said warningly to me as we walked, his hand resting lazily on my hip, down to the Great Hall behind the others.

I nodded. "I know."

"So…?"

I scoffed. "Not a chance. I never said I'd give it to you _now_. And besides," I eyed him coyly, "that's really delicate information. I think it's worth more than just a half verse of singing from you."

He gave me a bored look that he'd tinged with a slight loathing.

Snickering, I shook my head. "Nah, don't worry. You suck, anyway," he rolled his eyes "No, I just kind of wondered where you learned Spanish from."

"From the same place you learned English: around." My eyebrow arched questioningly. He explained, "A lot of kids from all over the world have passed through the same orphanage as me. A few of them have been from Spanish speaking countries." I made a small 'o' with my mouth and listened as he continued a bit reminiscently. "About ten years ago or so, a girl had come all the way from Colombia with her parents to visit a family friend – rich people. They got into an accident and she ended up right across the hall from me – couldn't even say 'hello' much less tell the matrons what had happened." He scoffed a bit but smiled down at me. "We kind of learned together."

I smiled up at him and leaned into his embrace, picturing a six year old Riddle trying to decipher the Colombian dialect.

"Are you one hundred percent Spanish?" he asked eventually as we neared the moving staircase.

I shook my head. I haven't really ever told anyone – not out of shame or anything. It just gets too hard explaining to some geographically challenged people about this. But I have some Ecuadorian blood in me too on my mom's side. "I'm like a quarter Ecuadorian, I think."

"That explains it," he muttered, nodding.

I scoffed and snickered. "The lack of the use of the vosotros conjugation and shit?"

He scoffed a laugh and nodded. "You speak like she did."

"Meh."

"Quite."

* * *

><p>"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked incredulously of Eliot at dinner.<p>

He'd come down about halfway through my meal of macaroni-and-cheese and cornbread and had now effectively made me want to upchuck. Nodding somberly and grimacing, he said, "Yeah. I'm sorry, Thali. But there's no other way. Anyway, Black says you're pretty good at Chasing."

Black, from Emily's right side, leered at Eliot. "Oi, you want me dead or something?"

Eliot rolled his eyes and spoke to me again. "There's still a month until our game. We can put in extra time if you want."

I almost threw my goblet of water at him. "With tests every fucking day and homework coming out my ass?"

"That's a pretty picture," commented Riddle, tearing into a piece of cornbread.

Sparing him a sneer, I listened to Eliot's reasoning. "You'll be fine. Don't worry."

Sighing, I pushed my plate out of the way to lean my arms on the table and think. Eliot had assumed the title of Captain of the Gryffindor team – at Dumbledore's offer apparently – and as such made the decision to have Patrick take my place as Seeker and move me into the spare Chaser slot. I guess I really had nothing to panic about. I just didn't really like the idea of not Seeking. Nodding, I sighed again. "Fine. Ugh, I can just see this month now: I'm gonna jump off of the tower."

"Going for a new record, are you?" asked Riddle snidely, glaring at me.

For a moment, I didn't know what I'd done. And then I remembered Emily's words from this morning about Riddle making her think he'd yell at me for jumping out of the stands. So, I nudged him a bit and said, "Shut up. It made you feel special and you know it."

He scoffed and offered me the remaining half of his cornbread. I took it and nibbled at it, not really hungry, just nervous. "I'll help you train starting tomorrow, if you want," he eventually told me softly, nudging me back.

I released a breath I didn't know I'd held in and nodded most vigorously. "Please and gracias."

He smiled and picked up another piece of bread.

"What did Headmaster Dippet say about Rose, Tom?" Emily asked after a short stretch of silence in which everyone chewed or gazed absentmindedly around.

"She'll be back later tonight. Her Prefect duties have been stripped, as you know, as have her Hogsmeade privileges," he told her offhandedly.

I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes. "I should be adopted by some rich Ministry slob."

Riddle laughed softly, as did most of the others. Emily just gave a weak titter.

* * *

><p>You know, aside from Selwyn's presence (which I decidedly ignored in the spirit of not fucking shit up for my team and for <em>me<em> as the weeks passed) and loads of homework piling onto me, the next few weeks passed easily enough. I'd gotten used to getting ahead on my homework and classwork because, well, what choice did I really have sitting next to Riddle? As a result of his influence, most weeks, I only had to do homework about two or three nights maximum. The rest of the week, we usually went out after dinner to practice some Chasing and after a couple of weeks I had that down to just reflexes, which always boded well for me. It actually relaxed me to see him out of breath by the ends of these nights.

The beginning of February (and the first day of the fourteen day countdown to 'Love Day', as Emily put it), found me atop the Astronomy Tower, trying to chart each planet's stupid moons while Riddle, who'd already charted his, read that book I'd seen him with a while back – the one with the ancient runes on the cover.

"Can I see yours? I think I messed up Callisto," I murmured, frowning at my chart and then at him when he didn't answer. "Tom?"

"Hmm?" he uttered, tearing his gaze slowly from the book and looking at me a bit unfocusedly. "Oh, sure. Here." He handed me his rolled up chart and then went back to reading. He'd taken to filling a lot of his free time that he didn't spend helping me train or figure things out for the homework reading that book. Granted, from what I could tell, those symbols filled the book from cover to cover, so maybe that explained why it took so long for him to read such a thin manuscript. But I didn't feel too sure about that. Riddle's performance in Ancient Runes classes (from the test scores I usually saw on his papers) boded impeccability in the matter and I doubt it would take him months to read through that thing. But, whatever: to each, his own.

I went back to my moons, scowling at the position of Callisto on Riddle's paper and then furiously stabbing at my chart with my wand to erase my blunder as if it had done me a great personal wrong.

"Almost done?" he asked me a little later, peering over my shoulder at the chart in front of me.

I nodded and leaned into the hand he placed on the small of my back, stifling a yawn. "I'm just making sure it's correct. I hate having stupid mistakes."

He rested his chin on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist and observed my chart from there with me. "Is this too cheesy?" he eventually asked, a smirk evident on his voice.

I snickered and turned to kiss him on the cheek first. His face, like mine, seemed to have frozen a while ago with the cold up here, but I didn't mind. From his cheek, I kissed a trail to the corner of his mouth and stayed there for a bit. "This is comfortable," I corrected and, with one more kiss, turned back to my chart. After frowning at it pensively for a few more minutes, I decided that if I'd fucked up on anything I would just leave it because I no longer gave a single shit and started to pack up. Upon going to put Riddle's chart back in his bag, I saw the ancient runes book resting right next to his bag on the ledge of the tower. "What's this thing about?" I asked him, stowing his chart and yanking the drawstring of the opening to close it.

He picked it up and smirked. "You take Ancient Runes, don't you?"

I scoffed. "Yeah. Doesn't mean I know what I'm doing."

He too scoffed and pocketed the small book. "I'll tell you when you give me the name."

Scoffing, I handed him his backpack and took mine from him. "Fair enough." He'd get the name he wanted soon enough and well, I really couldn't give less of a shit about the book. The name giving had me more nervous, honestly. Three guesses why. Yeah, right. Just one guess.

Really, do I have any other choice by now? You know I don't. Don't lie to me. And in all reality, I really _want_ to tell him. Keeping that kind of information in (as stupid and silly and downright fluffy as it sounds) can kill you. It hurts. Loving someone so much…loving them like you didn't even think possible…and not telling them. It gets to the point (and it's at this point for me now) that you don't even care if they don't love you back. You can wait. You can even just step aside. But you can't stay quiet anymore – not about this. It suffocates you.

I just didn't know when to tell him. Right then, on the Astronomy Tower – just the two of us, him having just asked again about the name of the person I've fallen in love with – seemed like a pretty decent set up. And yet…

"Do you feel okay?" he asked me, peering into my face and gently brushing back a lock of my hair.

Not yet.

I nodded and smiled up at him, almost beaming. I love him. Somewhere, deep inside, I know he loves me too – I can admit that to you now. Sorry. I know I've done so probably too late. But, really, just…the softer smiles, the things Emily said – his wanting to keep me happy and all that – it all points to that. I can't deny it to myself any longer. So, no need to rush this, right?

"Can I ask you something?" he asked me, still peering at me.

"Go ahead."

He inhaled deeply, pulling back a bit and laying his bag down on floor again. I followed suit and waited. Releasing the minute long breath, he spoke: "What if she hadn't lost the baby?"

_What_? "What?" I echoed my own thought, quietly.

Eyeing me a bit, he chewed his lip and then repeated, "What if she had not lost the baby?"

Knitting my brow, I shook my head and shrugged. "I dunno," I croaked. "What would you have done if she showed up here, pregnant? Or just sent you an owl: 'hey, Tommy, I'm preggy!'" Sneering a bit, I stepped back away from him some more and toward the door to descend the tower.

"You're doing it again," he warned, laying a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder.

Losing it. Right. I need to stop that. But still. What the fuck, man?

"Look, think about it," he said with a dismissive shrug and sideways glance out over the side of the tower. "If I'd have ended up in that situation...and then you came along…" He trailed off and then brought his gentle gaze back to my harder one. "What do you think would have happened between you and I?"

Oh. I understood now. "You mean, would I still have even spoken to you past saying thank you for helping me to the Hospital Wing?" I asked him bluntly. He smirked. So did I, but coldly. No, I wouldn't have. But not out of respect for the mommy-dearest or even for lack of interest in bating future fathers. No, simply because I never would have even made it to 1942. If Tom Riddle would have fathered some chick's baby, _tradition_ would have dictated that he take responsibility and marry her and all that blah-shit. Having done so would have altered the original timeline on its own. Daddy Voldemort. Can you imagine?

He didn't answer me, just smirked somewhat feebly. "No, I didn't think so."

"Riddle…what's up with you?"

He shook his head and looked out over the side again. "Nothing. Let's go, okay?"

"Nah, nah, nah." I nudged him further back toward the edge and then, when I had him back up against it, I laid my hands on either side of him upon the icy stone. "You're gonna tell me what that was about."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head exasperatedly. "I figured you would know. You _did_ open me up to the idea of it," he told me with a small smirk.

Jerking my chin at him for elaboration, I asked, "What do you mean?"

"Weren't you just saying this afternoon how it's idiots like me, who don't bother to look before they leap, so to speak, who end up trapped?" I nodded. He shrugged offhandedly – almost vulgarly for the topic at hand. "Why not take it a step further? Why even bother marrying a girl that you have no interest in even if it _is_ your baby?"

"What?" Incredulity coated my tone – _drowned_ it, more like. I could not have just heard that come out of his mouth. _Really? That shit surprises you? …Well, no, but…I guess I just never expected _him_ to…. Voldemort being a dead beat dad sounds like something that's very improbable to you? …Shut up and let me finish this conversation before I lose it again…._

"Relax," he told me, still smirking rather rudely, I felt. "Of course, I'd take responsibility for the baby, Thalia. I just figured you were right about that bit and started working off of it. It's not like it's unheard of."

"Isn't it?" I asked him, uncertainty and, a bit deeper, fear leaking into my tone.

"Not really," he said softly, shaking his head and squaring off his features in a stoic manner. "And I've seen it get much, much worse," he added quietly.

I grimaced. Why did I have to push? Why did I need to clarify his angle on this? Why had it scared me so, the possibility of him not owning up to his responsibility? Why did I have to go all…ugh! …Why did I have to remind him of his own life?

"I would never let anyone with my blood even face the possibility of having the same life as me, Thalia. Never."

Another grimace pulled at my left cheek and then I shrugged and nodded. "Well, …I guess in that case…" What the fuck just happened? I couldn't really keep up with the thought process we apparently both had followed to this point. _Tradition…. You think so? …You've been feeling guilty about it since I can't even remember when and you still ask me if I think so? Just open your eyes and _focus_…He's kind of just acting like you: him first and then the rest of the world…. But the baby…. The baby, which doesn't exist by the way – so relax, would be well taken care of. You heard him…He's just presenting you with the theory of being with you while raising a kid with someone else. Sound familiar to you? …It just seems wrong – I wouldn't wanna…. Save it. I know even you would find a way around a kid – even if it meant loving the side of that baby that came from Selwyn. But I think you're missing the bigger picture…. I'm not – I know…I know why he's bringing this up…. So, what's the problem? …I guess I just didn't expect it…. February _is_ the month of love…. I'm gonna talk to him now. You can go drop off the side of the building if you'd like._ I smiled at him weakly and leaned into him, resting my head on his chest.

His arms wrapped slowly around me and he placed a soft kiss on my forehead before speaking, "I guess I should thank whoever is out there that things didn't happen that way."

I breathed a soft laugh and nodded against his chest. "I think things would have been a lot more different…."

He snickered. "The first normal thing you do, and I oppose it."

"Irony is my best friend, Riddle."

He scoffed softly.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom<em>**

I don't know. I just don't know.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

"Unngghhh, do we haaave to?" I complained, sitting up in bed a fortnight later and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Do you want to have a nice Valentine's Day or not, Thali?"

"Don't care. Just want sleep. I've been training my ass off with Riddle _and_ Eliot these past two weeks. The game is _tomorrow_. Let. Me. Slee – ay!"

She cut me off by yanking me out of my bed and throwing a bunch of clothes at me. "Put that on and meet me downstairs in a half hour. _Shower_!" She stomped moodily out of the room and I mimicked her behind her back but turned to go to the bathroom as she turned toward the stairs to the common room.

Half an hour later found me wearing – totally mismatched by the way – jeans and a jumper underneath my winter coat and scowling at the back of Emily's head. I poked it roughly to get her attention.

"Ow! Oh, you're ready," she almost cooed.

"I hate you."

"You'll love me when he asks you to marry him."

I just stared at her, deciding how to curse her, as she rose from the couch that she'd occupied with Eliot as she said this and then turned to leave the common room, still very sleepy.

"She woke you up," Riddle stated with a docile stare that told me someone had woken him up too.

Nodding I sat and joined him in his plate of home fries, eggs and sausages. "Save me, please?"

Smirking, he shook his head and then kissed me before standing. "I'll see you in Hogsmeade."

"I hate you, too, then."

He bent again to kiss the top of my head and took off, shrugging into his coat, down the aisle between the tables.

"Shhh!" Emily hissed at me, flapping her hands. "You can't talk to him until I say so. Anyway, look you need a new dress for tonight. So, that's first, then I'm probably going to need a few things from the beauty shop – lipstick and rouge maybe – so that's after and then maybe we can meet Tom and Eliot – you and I – for a cup of tea in Madame Prissy's?"

"Is it pink?"

"No. Teal."

"No."

"But –"

"_No_."

"Come on, Thali," she said softly to me, dropping the commanding tone and the pushiness. "You love him – I know you do. And I know he's the quiet type and more of the wait-until-you're-out-of-school-and-he-has-a-career type of guy so he won't say it until then, but he loves you too. Work to make this day nice for him too…. You know, he never goes to the Hogsmeade trips on Valentine's Day?"

I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I would have thought that every year he'd have a least five dates – one for each hour."

She shook her head. "No. Well, usually it's because he stays to help the few Prefects that stay behind to set the Hall up for the dance that he doesn't go. But he never shows up to the dance either."

I fell into silent thought about that until what she'd said hit me. "Dance?"

She looked like she wanted to smack me. "Why the hell else would I make you go through this?"

I snorted with laughter. "Okay, okay. Chill. C'mon. I think they're checking names. Where's Eliot?"

"With Tom."

Again, I fell into silent thought. I guess I didn't really have a reason to protest against this day so viciously. I mean, I'd woken up fully now with a bite of breakfast and all this thinking, so I didn't feel grumpy; plus…Riddle…. I guess I could put in the effort that he definitely deserves as he obviously had already gone to some lengths (dealing with a lot of Emily's pushiness being a part of those lengths, judging by what she said earlier about talking to him) to plan this shit out with Emily and Eliot for me….

I just never pictured myself doing this kind of thing for no other reason than just wanting to make a boy happy. Sighing, I stood and started over to the entrance hall where Professor Merrythought stood checking off names.

* * *

><p>"It's pink."<p>

"Yes, you _like_ pink," Emily said quite exasperatedly holding out the froofy massacre of lace and frill that someone had dipped in pink dye.

"Who the fuck said I like pink?"

"You did. You asked if Madame Prissy's place was pink."

"That doesn't mean I like pink. It just means I didn't have a reason to curse you for wanting to take me somewhere pink and fluffy."

"_Try on the bleeding dress_," she hissed, having had enough of my reluctance, and threw it into a dressing stall in Gladrags', promptly shoving me in after it.

"Ow! Okay, okay. Chill." I tugged the curtain shut and started to undress, eyeing myself in the mirror. Look, I…I feel pretty much okay about myself. No, I don't claim Miss Stupid Universe. Nor do I ever want to. I like my flaws: my softer cushioning; my not so tiny backside; my normal-sized and, most importantly, fucking proportionate to _me_ boobs. They fit me. I like them. But, (and I guess there's always going to be a 'but' at my age and in my gender) I feel insecure too…a lot of the time. I mean, just look at the kinds of girls Riddle has gone to bed with….

I sighed and pulled the pink thing over my head, situating it as I shimmied it down my form. "Huh," I uttered, pulling back the flaps in the back as if I'd zipped it up.

"What now?" Emily asked glumly from right beside the stall.

I scoffed. "It's pretty…decent…."

A few seconds passed without her responding and then, from under the curtain, in flew a pair of spike-heeled, close-toed, white shoes and hit me right on the leg. "That's gonna leave a bruise," I warned mockingly.

"I'll heal it. Just put those on."

Snickering, I obeyed. "Well?" I asked a few minutes later as I let Emily zip me up and adjust my hair into what she somewhat envisioned for later tonight.

She stepped back away from me, taking in the overall effect of her abusive work, and didn't say anything. Then, quite out of the fucking blue, she sniffed and stiffened her upper-lip, nodding. "Good. This is the one."

_Oh, you have got to be kidding me._ "Why are you crying now?"

She shook her head and shoved me back into the stall. "Change back and give me those. I'll pay for them."

"I have money, you know."

"Yes, but you still need to get him something for your one month anniversary on the twenty-fifth."

"I'll slice myself open right now, I swear," I threatened.

She hissed but conceded. "Fine. Wait until the one year, then."

"Hopefully, in a year, I won't know you anymore," I told her rudely, handing over the dress and shoes and already pulling on my jeans.

"It's pink," I hissed under my breath to Black and Riddle later on as we walked – well, I dragged my feet – towards the Three Broomsticks.

They both laughed and then Riddle, probably feeling the effect of my glare, decided for some sympathy. He placed an arm over my shoulder and shook me somewhat jovially. "You'll be fine. Besides, I think I have it worse," he told me with a matter-of-fact look down at me.

"How so?" I asked shoving Black, who'd begun to laugh almost maniacally from sheer entertainment, somewhat roughly so that he stumbled a bit.

"She's making me dance," Riddle said quietly and then inhaled deeply to release the breath in a long, painful sounding _whoosh_.

"What kind of music?" I asked him, my interest now piqued.

He shrugged. "No idea. But you have to do it too. She just figures that you won't mind."

I shrugged. "You don't have to dance. I'm not going to."

He jerked his chin at me, a questioning frown on his face. "Plan?"

I nodded.

He smiled, an unbridled kind of joy sparkling in his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Thali, do you think you can get her to calm down?" Eliot asked pleadingly a while later in the Three Broomsticks. He and Emily had met us there, loads of more bags than she'd already acquired before noon in their hands, after having shopped for beauty supplies and whatnot. He looked ready to cry when he sat down as she went over to the bar to order their drinks.<p>

I shook my head pityingly. "What did she _do_ to you?" The question, a genuine attempt at empathy, came out accompanied by a slight snicker. Hey, Emily falls under _his_ jurisdiction – not mine.

He shook his head tiredly and then looked at Riddle, who lounged next to me, drinking another Butterbeer. "I can't do this anymore," he whispered and then lay his head down on the table, breathing slowly, purposefully. "I hate Valentine's Day," he moaned into the wood.

Shaking my head, I munched on some pretzels and sipped from my bottle. "Poor baby," I said unconvincingly and Riddle scoffed.

"You guys should tell him your plan," Black piped up, shrugging over his glass of Firewhiskey that he'd flirted out of the barmaid.

Eliot lifted his face hopefully off of the table, but I shook my head. "Sorry, can't. You need to stay at the dance," I told him with a genuine grimace. I knew how desperate he'd felt just then – the soft gleam in his eyes shining through his exhaustion and screaming at me to help him – but I couldn't allow him to escape with Riddle and I.

He looked ready to moan his agony.

I explained why he really _shouldn't_ more than he _couldn't_, per se, leave: "Look I know she's fucking crazy and completely unbearable right now. But one: we need you to keep her from looking for us." He scowled at me but I pushed on. "And two: if she's working this hard to make such a menial day special…then the least we can all do is make sure it goes right for her. She deserves just as poofy and frilly of a day as she's trying to give us and only you can give that to her Eliot." He continued to scowl, but with less fervor now. "Riddle and I…well, we'll manage on our own how we handle our night." (Black snickered) "But you need to stay with her and dance with her and do all the stupid things she wants to do."

"Why?" he complained.

"Because if you don't," I began, sliding a bit closer to him on the circular booth. "I'll personally make sure you repay every single God damn tear she sheds because her boyfriend is an asshole. Do I make myself clear?"

"No jodas, hermanita, desde cuando te ha importado tanto el tal Día de los Enamorados?**"

_What the fuck_? I swiveled my head around so fast toward the owner of that sorely familiar voice that it seemed the additional energy and inertia behind it swept me into the table, half-sitting and half-risen off the booth seat. Clutching my stomach, for it had kind of slammed into the edge of the table, I straightened up, still staring disbelievingly at the sight before me.

A tall, rugged, and tan-toned man stood to the left of Black's edge of the booth. He looked rather unkempt for the standard by which I judged, subconsciously apparently, all boys now. He had a five o'clock shadow bedizening his angular, strong jaw; his dark, wavy hair curled a bit behind his ears for its length had now inhibited those pieces to lay leisurely against his scalp like the rest of his hair did; his bomber jacket, a bit worn down and kind of shredded in some places – elbows and shoulders from what I could see – hung loosely around him as if it had fit him much better when he'd first put it on, probably many hungry months ago; his dragon-hide boots, probably once very thick and quite worth the money he'd spent on them, now crinkled lamely around the ankles of his denim clad legs, faded and worn down. Even his eyes, a lovely and sparkling shade of honey mixed with streaks – here and there – of an ominous blue, had a dimmed look about them; his lips had cracked several days or even months ago, and never healed properly, judging by the red sores adorning them; his caramel skin, even, had a wind smacked leathery look to it; his hands, from where I stood, seemed to have lost the top layer of skin to burns and other wounds and now stayed, loosely hanging, at his sides.

But no, no matter what my mind – and the stupid thing in my chest – told me about what else I knew about this man, this person who so resembled – fleetingly and still most cruelly – Jorge Paz, I would not fall for it. Jorge had…well caramel colored skin just like Dad. And…and the strangest honey eyes with stunning blue streaks speckling them…and the angular features that Jorge Raul Espinoza – Dad – had passed down to him…and the same mouth as me…the same mouth that this man had…. But no, Jorge didn't…Jorge _couldn't_ have…Jorge had…

The warm smile that had pulled, probably painfully, at his ruined mouth, now faded and he stepped forward toward the table. "Thalia," he said softly.

And as I leaned forward across the table, my hand now limply hovering over my tummy, I went back. I went back to Spain, in the living room with Jorge, and played silly video games with him, not caring that he always beat me. I went back into the room we'd shared and to the nights that the storms rattled our windows fiercely, scaring me, and to his voice syncing with the sounds of the guitar, countering the storm. I went back to the bathroom in our aunt's house the night he'd caught me trying to see about the makeup shit and back to feeling him gently wiping away the face paint with a moist, warm towel, all the while cursing my older cousins out for convincing me that I'd needed it…. As I leaned forward, I went back to Jorge as I remembered him.

But, and I knew it – _knew_ it and didn't heed myself, this person couldn't even reach Jorge's heels to wipe the grime off of them.

A cruel, eye darkening, stomach-twisting smirk yanked at his cracked lips, causing the sores to split open again and bleed. And he, with an unforeseen swiftness that maybe I could have seen a mile away on any other person, pulled out his wand and flicked it.

His spell, a fiercely Dark and angrily searing one that I could not name, brutally knocked me backward into the booth and then upward so that my head made painful contact with the wall. I wanted to heed my original gut feelings now – to curse him back. But before I could even register what the fuck had happened, really, before anyone even had a chance to react, he'd blasted the table out of the way and now brought down another Dark, swift and crackling wave of magic with a swing of his arm at me. It hit me with an immeasurable amount of force sending a sickening _crack_ resounding solely and excruciatingly throughout my body. The pain from the weight of the invisible sledge hammer he'd pounded me with stunned me. I couldn't move or breathe or even take anything in besides that feeling. The feeling of crumbling from within – of immobility from pressure and pain, from magic too Dark and powerful to overcome. The feeling of looming Death.

Like some sick hammering game, he did this over and over and over again – my body lifting and bouncing off of the floor I'd slid down to at some point with each ruthless strike – Interspersed sporadically – probably in between dodging or deflecting spells from the people around him – until I couldn't even feel it anymore. It seemed odd…. I wanted to just vacate consciousness now – I hurt so much that I didn't hurt anymore – and yet…I couldn't…. I could only lay there: neither here nor there, neither alive nor dead, neither breathing nor suffocating…neither seeing nor blind….

I simply…didn't.

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><p>Uy, no jodas. Estás loco.* - Uy, don't fuck around. You're crazy.<p>

No jodas, hermanita, desde cuando te ha importado tanto el tal Día de los Enamorados?** - Don't fuck around, little sister, since when has the supposed Day of the Enamored Ones mattered so much to you?

NOTE: "Day of the Enamored Ones" is obviously Valentine's Day despite what it looks like in translation. Also, I know there're are a lot of different ways to interpret "Joder" (or "jodas", conjugated here), but this is the way I mean for you guys to understand it.


	18. From the Flapping of Tiny Wings Part Two

**A/N:** Guess what? I'm late! I know, dudes. I know. Oh and, trust me, you're gonna hate me even more than you already do at the end of this chapter. I'm telling you all NOW: It won't make sense. Deal with it. =) Lol, I'm kidding, I'm not being all mean for no reason. True, this chapter will leave you all like this - o.O - but I promise it's worth it. Just keep on reading and you will understand. As for my lateness, as I explained in my reply to mspstar97, I've acquired a part time job that cuts into my day and ruins me for my muse (my muse feels all neglected and shit). I'm sorry I won't be able to update as consistently as I used to - I WILL try to do this to the best of my ability, but I can't promise anything. Hopefully I don't lose any of my minion-readers and you all stick with me thru this.

Now, as you've noticed, I've responded to your reviews within your PM systems and I shall try to answer you all your questions and/or give thanks in this way from now on to avoid stupidly long A/Ns :P. But for those of you who only added/faved/etc and/or reviewed without signing in, I'll always give a shout out here.

Which brings me to:

OMG YOU GUYS! THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! Seriously, I don't think I can stress enough how much I love you all - my readers, reviewers, adders, fav-ers, etc. etc. You all make my mother friggin day when I get an email telling me you've been here and read/reviewed/added/faved. Those of you who reviwed my last chappie : **Chamilia Lutien Tinuviel, mspstar97, FadedSunset, RuledBySilence, kogatami, Dustfinger's cheering section**, a gigantic GRACIAS! You guys are the bestest!

**kogatami:** since I didn't get to reply to you, I'll say it here, YAY! I'm glad you love my story and I shall keep up the great work! lol Enjoy the chapter, hun!

**I thinks it's pretty safe to say by now: we're getting close to the end here, loves. But don't worry. It's far from over**. ENJOY MY MINIONS =) oh and jaja you know what to do :P

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Seventeen: _From the Flapping of Tiny Wings Part Two_**

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><p><em>"Naturally, when one makes progressive steps, there may be some who see it as a betrayal of their goals and interests." – Louis Farrakhan<em>

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><p>"For what?"<p>

He didn't answer me. He only stared, his milky white eyes scanning my face ever so slightly, and turned his nose up most haughtily at me.

"For _what_?" I demanded again, more forcefully this time, and tried to repair the massive crack in my voice before I had to speak again. My lips trembled over my clenched teeth and my vision blurred somewhat with the angry tears that welled up in my eyes. I felt terrified and angry. But it didn't matter. The trembling, the crack in my voice, the tears, the absolute _hatred_ I felt now toward the otherworldly creature before me – none of it mattered in the face of what just happened. I didn't have time for his bullshit and he knew it, but he would keep me here as long as he needed it. Or try to anyway.

"I do not need a reason –"

"– you _do_! You always preach to me about the fucking rules – now explain your –"

"_I DO NOT NEED TO EXPLAIN ANYTHING! I AM FATHER TIME! I CONTROL_ –"

"Not anymore," I cut him off calmly, coldly, smirking through the tears. "That's why, isn't it?" I asked him, my breathing steadying out from the shuddering panting in which it had come seconds before. Blinking back the outraged tears and unclenching my fists so that I could properly feel the flow of pure, untainted energy – raw magic – coursing through me, I stepped toward the crone. "You never wanted to tell me, never wanted me to _find_ _out _about your little…slip-up…. But now what, Chronos?" I asked of him, feeling my smirk widening into a nasty triumphant smile while the pieces fell into place and made sense of all the things that have happened in this circuit. "You've broken your own Laws – I've _found out_…. What are you to do now?"

He didn't answer. I cackled viciously, reminding myself appallingly of the old, Muggle images of deranged witches and hags. I probably looked a bit like one too for the madness I felt myself exuding.

I didn't care, though. He now stands _beyond_ fucked. See, Father Time no longer holds that Title. No, he lost that, along with due and proper control over the Fabric, the Laws, and the Sands of Time and over Time itself, when he brought me here. I never said anything about this to you let alone _his_ shrewd ass because I could not count myself as one hundred percent sure. But now, with all this shit happening to my earthbound half (much of which would've ended up happening anyway, I'm sure – if I've deciphered her decision properly by what she's been doing – but was sped up to this horrible point by this asshole here) and adding that to the strange occurrence up here during the end of the last circuit, I knew for sure. Time and all of its constituents now had a new master and he couldn't deal with that.

Sparing him another sneering smirk, I turned on the spot, away from the _Viatores_ encasement of hourglasses and from the horrible scene projecting from our glass, and practically skipped down the marble steps. I headed for the dark room just off to the left of the room with the baroquely designed table in it (where he'd fashioned my Time Turner) and stepped in, aiming to claim what belonged to me….

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><p><em>I watched her as she pushed away from the stone wall in the dungeons, a tear dripping down her cheek, and sighed. She'd given up. Quite like the circuits before this one – including the first – she'd seen how Riddle really couldn't let go of the qualities that would lead to his eventual Darkness – seen how at the slightest provocation, he'd snap back to his old self. And, again, quite like the circuits before this one, she'd reacted as expected: she gave up, disillusioned and not wanting to go further for someone so…evil. Not to mention she still felt horribly guilty for deciding to stay and not help her family. But she usually goes to think things through at this point. She loves him too much to let him go like that just because he attacked some chick she didn't like in the first place in an attempt to defend her honor.<em>

_And she did exactly that. I watched her go off toward their common room and stalk into the bedroom there, letting the nervous knot I always got in my stomach at this juncture in the circuits loosen itself. She would think things through. She would decide to stay with him until the end – realize that the ambition, the need for the image and power, the drive all make up part of the man she fell in love with and remember, as she always does, that she has gotten over this shit before. With this thought, I felt calmer but the fact that she slowly tired more and more after each circuit of this – the repetition – worried me. I knew she'd eventually reach the point of no return and then, no matter what I did or what memories I called up (subliminally or forcefully), she would not break her decision to give up and welcome Death. _

_And what would I do then?_

_Caught in my thoughts (made easy by the eerie silence that always consumed this place), I didn't realize how the days passed down on Earth and I didn't see how or when she made up with Riddle. I just saw him laying her down on the bed in their common room, tugging at the towel she'd wrapped around herself until it came undone and lay in a humid, tangled mass beneath them. I smiled at her whispered 'I love you's and the distant yet so very real sensation of his kisses along her heated flesh and turned away from the scene. I know: It's me and I should be okay with watching it or whatever, but still; we were ripped apart so long ago and the sensations she felt slowly had turned into such ghostly echoes for me (as opposed to the very intense echoes I felt at the beginning) that I felt like a sick voyeur just thinking about watching them together. _

_So, instead, I walked down the marble staircase and over to the lounge area to plop onto one of the soft white sofas, and thought. I knew she would reconsider and stay. Yes, part of me felt very guilty that I still wanted her to do so when she obviously felt so unbearably tired and that I had, in many ways, caused her exhaustion. But still…not much trumped the ultimate goal here – even for her – so I knew I had to keep pushing her against the exhaustion. _

_Maybe I should explain that bit a little more? I don't mean that she has grown tired of just the repetition. No, you see, Travelers come into existence like any person: whole and intact. Also, like any person, we tend to remain this way our entire existences not only for the physiological stability that we _need_ to survive the trips through the continuums and the constant rebirth, reuse and (practically) recycling but also because we never knew we could split ourselves. No: it's not a natural occurrence like in mitosis or anything of the like and certainly not recommended for damn good reasons. But, of course and as my luck would have it, I stand as the first to accomplish this feat (and survive) and also the first to encourage this state of existence, despite the horrible effects it has on both my earthbound half and the half that I exist as here in the Hall of Time. Her exhaustion comes from this. No, I won't go so far as to say that if we had remained whole, she would never get tired; but she would've most likely either accomplished her goal of somehow staying with Riddle and/or rounded a _lot_ more circuits than she did with only half of herself before getting tired. She wouldn't have to deal with the strange echoes of thoughts and feelings she sometimes gets with no idea as to where they come from. She wouldn't feel so disconnected on a deeper level than she can even register or comprehend._

_It really _is_ a shitty existence, this one. But like I've said, I know we both want this. I know she wants Riddle for the rest of her life and I do too as well as to reconnect with her. I have no idea how painful it will bode – certainly more painful than anything thus far (and that includes the actual feeling of being ripped from her, almost dying as a result of that ripping and almost watching Riddle die when I tried to bring him back to my time with me). But I'll take it. And so will she. I don't even need to have a link to her or to even have ever existed as a part of her to know that. I mean, just look at what she'd done _by herself_. She just ran her sixth circuit, has gotten near the end again, and, again, bypassed the loophole in the Law about revealing the secrets of Time or whatever that law states. She has the strength to do all this shit and to keep the strong connection between her and Riddle alive, knowing that the eventual and forced disconnection from him will hurt and that she will have to do it again anyway to accomplish what she wants – _promised_. _

_I mean, think about it. Would _you_ do something like that? Would have the strength to face pain like that?_

_Smothering a vile yet somewhat honest thought in the back of my mind about that supposed strength actually standing as nothing more than fear of Death, I stood from the sofa and went to check on the glass. Something odd had happened…._

_"I don't know," he told her in a somewhat strained voice what looked like a month later – almost December, I think. He paced the bedroom as she sat on the edge of the bed holding a small vial in her hands and still in her night things. "Are you sure you're late?"_

_She huffed and gripped the vial tighter, eyeing him angrily. _

_"Sorry, love, I…I just…"_

_She softened her gaze and stood, her night shirt, slipping down a bit past her knees, stopping him in his tracks._

_"No. Sit, please. Don't over –"_

_"Riddle, women have been getting pregnant _forever_. Nomads, hunters and gatherers, etcetera et-fucking-cetera. I don't need to be treated like glass just because I'm pregnant."_

_He gave her an almost pained look but smiled. "It's more than just being pregnant, Thalia…. It's _our_ child…_ours_…." She smiled up at him, the softest warmth I'd ever seen tingeing her eyes (my heart stopped beating, it felt like, when he'd asked if she was sure about her 'lateness'), and he reached up the stroke her cheek once. "Sit. The potion should be ready for drinking soon."_

_She sat, as did he, and they waited, staring at the vial. It held a pinkish potion in it – the pregnancy test – and as they watched it, it slowly turned a sickly orangey color. Grimacing a bit and almost cringing it seemed, she lifted the neon orange potion to her mouth and drank it, clasping Riddle's right hand in her left. Once she'd downed it all, she set aside the vial and laid back while Riddle slid off of the bed and kneeled before her. She assisted him as he pushed the night shirt up by lifting her hips and then holding it still just beneath her breasts, exposing her tummy and pink undies. _

_At first, nothing seemed to happen and my stomach did excited somersaults while my heart dared to beat once and really hard. Not pregnant. I almost sighed in relief and had turned a quarter turn away from the scene when I caught the blue-ish hue forming on the taut skin of her still flat belly. "No," I whispered, horrified. "_No_."_

_"A boy?" came Riddle's whispered shocked yet…adoring, perhaps…question. At these inflected words, she lifted her head slightly off of the bed and observed her blue-ing belly. It now glowed brightly in the barely lit room (the sun had yet to rise over the snow covered mountains past the forest) and lit up both of their faces: his, somewhere between shocked and relieved or maybe even happy; and hers, worried…very worried. She knew as well as I what this meant. "A boy," Riddle repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stood a bit and leaned over her on the bed. His hands supported him at her sides, his face hovering barely a foot above her tummy and aglow not just with the light from the positive pregnancy test but also with his own blatant happiness. _

_Of course. He'd wanted just that, had he not? From what he'd told her that day in the orphanage when she finally came clean about her 'condition' as a Traveler – about the one good thing about having to spend her summers at the orphanage – of course he wanted this…despite its illegality for her._

_But the worry, as she observed him smile at her belly and then lower his face more to plant soft kisses here and there on the glow, slipped from her features and gave way to utter happiness. And my heart finally found its beat again just as my stomach unclenched and I smiled too. A baby. A baby made with pure love. A baby of…ours…._

_The months passed and she only told Emily, and he only told Black and both swore them to secrecy. A few more months and they'd both start their lives together outside of Hogwarts: Riddle, of course, scoring any job he wanted at the well-paying M.O.M. and she, preparing their home to welcome the new addition to their lives. It amused them both to no end – as well as me, of course – that she ended up on this path: barefoot and pregnant slash stay at home mom. But neither of them minded. In fact, often when Riddle would catch her gazing at her still flat tummy in the mirror of the bathroom, she'd go off on dreamy tangents about what she will do with the baby (read to him or her, teach him or her all the things her aunt and father taught her, play all the games she played as a child with him or her…give him or her the love that has blossomed from the love she has for Riddle for their baby and that she never got from her mother and he from his parents) and Riddle would just listen, smiling warmly. He wanted all those things every bit as much as she did._

_Everything seemed fine. Perhaps (and only 'perhaps' because I still watched the old crone too diligently so as to not let him near this new development in her circuit) a baby, instead of illegal, presented a loophole? I don't know. I just know that I've never seen two people more happy…ever. Night after night, Riddle would kiss her tummy and then kiss her and pull her into his embrace to sleep. Such simple gestures and yet to him, to her and to me, they meant the world. _

_Then it all went to Hell. _

_"How is she doing? Has it come full circle yet?" came the crone's raspy sounding voice. How long had I stood here alone without him?_

_I hid my involuntary jump and turned to him as he ambled slowly over to the encasement. "Um, not yet. And it's pretty much the same. You know, all lovey-dovey and whatnot."_

_He spared me a glance and I swallowed hard as he walked past me and right up to her glass, his blind eyes searching. My answer had come too quick, too out of character and too heavy with want for a distraction for him to even believe half of it. A thoughtful grunt escaped him and then a chuckle._

_And then everything went black…._

_When I came to, probably seconds later – I must have fainted from pure fear of getting caught hiding this, trying to break another Law – I looked at the projected scene and saw her, running _hard_ through what looked like the Albanian forest he'd spent years lurking around in the original timeline. What the…? How much time had passed with her? Her tummy hadn't grown at all, but the position of the moon for the late hour indicated a late sunset and a late sunset meant summertime. Surely, her belly would have grown _some_ by now? _And…the Albanian forest?Isn't that where he went when he fell the first time?

_But she ran, pumping her legs fast and hard, through low hanging branches and walls of ivy that scratched at her bare skin and eventually broke wildly, frantically into a clearing. Here sat Riddle at the foot of a small stone outcropping and surrounded by his Death Eaters and here I noticed the slight glow that had enveloped the glass. What the fuck had happened?_

_"Is she trying that shit again?" I asked of only myself apparently for Chronos had gone again. Where? No idea. But I didn't care just then. I needed to understand: what was happening? _Is our baby okay? Is she going to be able to bring him back with her this time? _These questions and more whirled around in my head and I just watched horrified as the blue fog took her again and the projection flickered out. _

_Then the black returned. But just for a second and then it went and I found myself seated at one of the white sofas, unable to remember what the hell I'd wanted to do or had done for that matter._

_"_Again_ with this insolent one?"_

* * *

><p>It hadn't made sense all this time. Not even as I watched her struggling with her own memories did I question what the fuck had happened to <em>mine<em>. I never asked _why_, after about two hundred years of not fainting and/or sleeping, I suddenly blacked out and couldn't remember what had happened during those periods of unconsciousness nor what those disconnected odd moments (her being pregnant and fine one moment, about to get around a Law, and then running in the Albanian forest the next) had turned into. I just assumed something had happened for her to lose the baby and that the disappointment threw Riddle into an unrecoverable rage and that Chronos had told the truth about her giving up. I mean, it made sense. So, as she made her journey back to her time after the forest, I remembered Riddle. I _made_ her stay a Traveler. I forced her to keep going, thinking she'd wanted to end it.

But she hadn't, I now knew.

Tracing my finger lightly over a loose, dead strand, I cogitated on how fragile the strands really boded – how easily one can sever many in one swoop. _Mine_, I thought, smirking and running my hand lightly over the stronger, tightly woven and braded intricate patterns of the billions of strands through the Fabric. _Mine…._

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><p>I don't know how long I stayed in that state of utter numbness and near disembodiment on the bar floor. But after what seemed like days (or maybe just seconds?) of flying bursts and streaks of colors above me, I started to notice the edges of my vision blurring. At first the blur kind of just whited out the edges of my sight and I felt glad to at least claim consciousness and life enough to experience <em>that<em> much. But then, as the whited-out blur turned to a familiar gray-blue-ish density that fell in heavy clouds onto me, I panicked.

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><p><em>Pregnant. I'd gotten pregnant….<em>

_I just couldn't believe it would turn out so easy. Granted, I didn't know what the fuck the policy about pregnancies really states (whether or not Father Time could actually end an infant's life just to keep the order of his Laws). But I still felt stupidly excited about this – felt like I'd actually gotten what I wanted. And I mean more than just this situation and this circuit or this love for Riddle. I mean, even before the first circuit started, I'd always felt like something was missing from me. I'd always had so much gentleness, affection, and pure love just bottled up inside the somewhat cold shell I'd made of myself, never daring to peak out for fear of touching an undeserving person with its purity. And now, nauseous, utterly in love with Riddle and expecting his baby, I felt like I actually found not only the ones who deserved my love, but also the one person in the entire fucking universe who made it grow and come into existence. I felt that, without this baby…without my child, love would not exist…and neither would I…._

_And the same went for Riddle. I'd thought he couldn't have given me anything more precious than the chance to end this vicious circle of circuits on my own terms and choose Death at the 'Crossroads'. I thought he couldn't love me anymore than he already had shown he does in that moment. Wrong. From the moment he saw the blue glow of my belly, I could _feel_ him giving off this new aura. A new kind of light danced in his eyes that went beyond the pure happiness he usually let shine with me. With this new light he exuded an unbridled joy, an _ecstasy_ of the highest order and it always glowed brightest when we'd have a moment to ourselves with our baby. Yeah, he totally and quite unexpectedly (yet somewhat expectedly if I analyzed him well enough in terms of his true heart) changed and took on the role of husband and father without even protesting once. _

_And, yes, I know how cheesy this shit sounds and looks and all that good shit. But, really, what do you want? I'd promised him I would find a way to stay with him – to grow old with him – and I'd gotten no closer to that goal than I had after the second circuit. In fact, I'd almost given up…almost. But then this baby came and…and now this has happened. I fulfilled my promise and we've gotten a new reason to never _ever_ give up…. So, I don't care if it's too cheesy for anyone…. I love Riddle. And I love my baby. Deal with it…._

_The months passed and I didn't start to show until May, which coincidentally turned out as the same month this would all go to Hell._

_Before the gray-blue-ish fog started seeping into the Great Hall, where I sat with Emily, Eliot, Mike, Black, Malfoy and Riddle, eating dinner, I caught a glimpse in the far end of the Hall – by the Gryffindor table – of what looked like a stooped figure ambling away behind a group of chattering sixth years. Then, nothing. Well, not nothing – that's a lie. I felt a really quick – less than a split second – sharp stab of pain in my abdomen and then I gave into the swirling fog's density and newly developed suffocating effect. It felt disgusting. And yet, I welcomed it as it took away all of the residual ache from the sharp pang I'd felt and the emptiness it left behind as well as a dull but deep-running disconnection…. I can't really explain where it had come from, the disconnection, or why I suddenly felt it, but…oh _God_…._

_Nothingness. Totally blank. From the last bit of lasagna I put into my mouth until I found myself running in the forest I…I didn't know what the fuck had happened. I just knew Time had run out. I had to get to Riddle. Nothing else mattered, but getting to him…._

_I never thought I could push myself this hard. _

Keeprunning, _I told myself over and over and over. The wind lashed painfully against my exposed skin; every muscle in my body felt as if I'd fallen into a vat of acid that had begun to slowly eat away at them. I thought my heart would burst soon from so much strain and effort or that my lungs, with every puff of air I took, came just a few O2 molecules from collapsing. But none of that – not a bit of it mattered. I knew I couldn't allow myself to stop, not even to breathe._ _I_ had _to_ keepgoing.

_The wildly beautiful scenery rushed by in a blur of evergreens and walls of low hanging ivy from gnarled and protruding branches that ripped at my clothes and cut shallowly into whatever flesh they met. Under different circumstances, I could have associated this place with another kind emotion and memory. But that bit of fantasy would have to wait. Or never get acknowledged. It would all depend on the outcome of this mess. _

It_ will _work_ – _you _know _itwill_._ _I pushed harder off of the ground with every step and, just as I noticed the pulsating quality that my vision had taken on, broke through the last wall of branches and ivy into a clearing. _

_The moon shone brightest here and I even felt glad at this point to see the wall of black cloaks. They encircled a fairly small stone outcropping, from what I could see through tiny gaps in between them. My surge of relief quickly extinguished itself, however. The pulsating grew stronger around the edges of my vision, giving the scene the appearance of playing out on the body of a jellyfish: pulsing overall but more so at the edges. The pulsing emanated from the object around my neck._

_I stumbled forward to the cloaks and the few in front of me broke apart to reveal him. He sat at the foot of the outcropping, even paler in the moonlight, with no trace of panic that any of the cloaked would recognize. But the tight line that his mouth had formed on his otherwise calm and collected face, to me, felt like hearing a whimper from a scared child. _

Go to him – take him with you…start again with him, _I urged myself, shoving weakly against the few cloaks that had recognized me and tried to hold me back. _

_"Let her pass." He spoke clearly and calmly, but still had that tight line in place._

_Someone's chest rumbled with the suppressed growl, but they shoved me away from the mass of black all the same. It's not like I presented a threat as the neurotic mess I felt like at the moment. _

_The glass caused my vision to pulsate more violently and I fell to my knees before the pale faced angel, weaker than I've ever felt. "It's happening – I must go…. I have to start again," I told him, struggling to keep my upper body off of the ground. Only then, when I heard my own voice, did I realize how scared I felt – that_ tears _soaked my cheeks. That fact, fatal to my ego because I almost never cried in front of him, didn't matter now. Now, only getting him to come with me mattered._

_Registering a new thrumming vibration that radiated from my chest and joined the pulsing vision, I knew that time ran low. I had only seconds. _

_My breath hitched in a gasp and I felt my eyes widen with terror but he stood slowly, pulling me with him. _

_"Please," I begged. "Come with me – it doesn't have to be like this. We can – "_

_"Go back." His tone, one I'd heard before but never in present company, calmed me momentarily. His face, still smooth as if he'd just given orders to another one of his followers, gave nothing away and even though it stung a bit, I appreciated the façade. _

_The violent thrumming physically shook me despite his firm grip._ This is it…it's over. There's no more Time. _Time itself had run out here. The end brought a close to the pulsing but also a blinding azure light that began to coat the scene as if an invisible hand had painted it into existence. The weariness and pain that I'd felt so strongly mere seconds before faded as the light grew brighter. His grip also slipped, and I wanted to scream my protest – grab onto him and bring him with me. _

_But the urgency I felt paled only in comparison to how clearly he read it on my pleading face. He let go of me, shaking his head. "Start again." His parting order as the azure light finally blanketed everything echoed slightly before I blew away into nothingness as if I existed as no more than a dense mist. His dancing eyes – the last sight burned into my memory…._

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><p>The fog edged away from me slowly – oh, so fucking slowly. But away it edged, and I knew I'd soon come to. I knew I would soon move again.<p>

The tiny, wispy curls of blue-ish miasma evaporated into the high ceiling of the Hospital Wing and I blinked, adjusting to the slightly bright light. Upon doing this, my peripheral sight caught on something…on some_one_ actually. I turned my head, landing my gaze on her, and smiled.

She looked just like my mother: same eyes, nose, mouth – the same mouth that I vaguely remembered seeing earlier on Jorge (_Oh, right, he's here too, isn't he?_) – the same hair…. Yes, she looked like Thalia Marielena Espinoza-Paz…very much like her indeed.

Sitting up, not even bothering to move gingerly for any injury I may have (of course, I would have none with her here with me – she would have taken care of that for me), I kept the smile on my face and felt it grow as she returned it. Somewhere, deep inside me, a memory stirred – a vague recollection of a…disconnection? A loose plug? A popped button on a blazer? I don't know. I just know that it stirred and shifted back into place with our smiles – our _connection_.

"Long time," I uttered to her softly.

She nodded, smiling still, and stepped forward. "So damn long." She took another step forward and laid her hand – _my _hand – on my shoulder.

All was right….


	19. The Tiny Wings, An Insurmountable Truth

**A/N: **Wiiiiiiiiii! I'm actually somewhat on time! LOL! I meant to have this up yesterday, but I had so much shit to do and ugh, dudes, guess what? HS drama never ends if you keep those people in your life. Advice from moi: kick people who don't make you happy or do you any good out of your life. =) Moving on: THANK YOU! All of you read, faved, added, followed, etc. etc. GRACIAS! **kitskat, RuledBySilence, and Chamilia Lutien Tinueviel** YOU GUYS ARE AWESOMNESS INCARNATE! =) thanks so much for the reviews!

**FadedSunset**: thanks for the well wishes for the job! =) you're awesome. I'm glad you liked the last chapter and I finally was able to clear that stuff up for you. Hopefully you like this chapter just as much and even more. The end might make you a bit sympathetic toward Riddle despite the stuff he's done and will do for a bit here. But, ah, I shall not give spoilers here. READ ON and ENJOY! As always, thanks for the awesome review =)

**mspstar97**: LOL, I know, right? OMG, when I wrote that chapter, I wanted to be at Hogwarts on the Astronomy Tower just so I could throw myself off of it just because it dragged so slowly along. But I'm happy you got it and, like I've said, if you have questions, just PM I'll always answer =) As for this chapter, I hope it's a lot clearer and more flowing in terms of information - I know some of it takes a bit of a careful eye, but it's all there - what you _need_ to know for now, anyway. ENJOY! and thanks for reviewing as always =)

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Eighteen: _The Tiny Wings, An Insurmountable Truth_**

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><p><em>"I have always considered it as treason against the great republic of human nature, to make any man's virtues the means of deceiving him." – Samuel Johnson<em>

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><p>"It feels <em>so weird<em>," I breathed through a childlike laugh. _Very_ weird for _me_.

She smiled warmly at me and reached to stroke my cheek before nodding and saying, "How do you think I felt when I realized what had happened? You at least, somewhere in the depths of your mind, have something that keeps you calm and somewhat informed on a baser level, which is why you're not flipping the fuck out now. But I had to figure it out on my own – and then some – by sifting through that bastard's secrets." She jerked her head to an imaginary person somewhere to her left of whose bastardly ways I knew full well. "Anyway, I'm here now and…and I need to explain a few things."

I nodded. "I bet," I told her, letting my gaze, which had fixed itself firmly on her, break away and roam freely over the Hospital Wing. Dippet and Dumbledore stood with Madame Marche a bed away from mine around Eliot, who sat in a chair beside that bed there. Then I frowned, concerned but less so than had she not shown up. "How long will this hold?" I asked her, shifting my sight from those frozen figures to those of Black, Riddle and two men I didn't recognize around Jorge – unconscious, on the bed across from mine. The men – aurors – had their wands raised at Jorge and Black, as well as Riddle, had his firmly grasped, ready.

"I don't know."

My frown deepened and I looked back at her. "But, I thought –"

She shook her head. "It's not that simple –"

"But his essence is with you – it's been with you since – since he ripped us apart. How hard is it to understand that?"

She scoffed and kept shaking her head. "Laws, baby. Laws."

I squinted incredulously at her. "What the fuck do the Laws say about _this_? It's never fucking happened!"

"Not the Laws of Time. The Laws of Nature. His force is equal to mine as mine is to his right now. He can and he _will_ attempt to stop me." Her hand fell back to her side and she turned her head toward the guys. "At any cost, as you can see…." She shook her head and her mouth formed that same tight line that Riddle always pulled his lips into. "It's incredible what some people will do…just to hold on…."

"So, he has lost it, then, his power…the Title?" I asked, standing, with a hopeful tinge to my voice that turned into a yell. "_Tell_ _me_ he finally fucked _himself_ over!"

She did that 'sort of' head bob thing and then shook her head, still staring at the area inhabited by the guys. "It's slipping. He's losing control – your decisions and loophole actions show how little control he has left despite my not knowing for certain about my 'new condition' until recently and my inability to do anything against _his_ meddling _because_ I didn't know. Simply put, even you in your broken form and _down here_ can still bypass his Laws for how little control he has left over their enforcement. But that I _know_ about that loss has made this worse for him _and_ for us. I've _seen_ what he's done and what he plans to do – watched him break his own Laws and the Laws of the ones before him just to stop us…. He's fucked for that but we still have to face what he's done so far and his final move," she finished off with a troubled sideways glance my way.

I nodded, a small swell growing in the pit of my stomach despite the looming danger she warned me of. _This is it_, I thought, half-elated. _Finally…._

She turned back to me, a sadness marring her…_our_ features, and shook her head. "We need to move fast, have full cooperation and put back what was never meant to move," the grimace she threw Jorge's way picked at an earlier question, "and to even begin to do that," she sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her ribs, "God, there's just so much to do and so much that can go wrong…."

This hurt. It really did. Like a hook on an exposed nerve, her sadness pulled me in much deeper than even my own had done so lately. Stepping toward her, I felt it tug at my core quite painfully – her despair for all that has happened. And I can't really understand _why_ past knowing that it came from a far off instinct, but it felt familiar and I yearned for it to get stronger and at the same time I wanted to calm it. "The first, I think," I began, considering what I felt as I watched her in her saddened reverie, and hoping I spoke with true reason. "Is to reconnect?"

She nodded, eyes still on mine and that tight line still thinning her lips. "It will hurt. More than you can imagine. But if we don't do it…" She shrugged, her ill-disguised worry burrowing under disconcertion, "Well, I really don't know…."

"Death? Worse?"

She shrugged again, true unfamiliarity shining in her grimace.

"I can deal with pain," I assured in a brave tone that didn't reflect my true store of valiance and nodded, breathing in deeply. "I bet I've been through worse, anyway."

She scoffed somewhat and cracked a tiny smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "I truly doubt it…. Riddle has yet to actually land the Killing Curse on you and he has yet to leave you when he's found out about the lies. And those two situations only provide emotional pain. Forget about physical pain – can you even remember being torn apart?"

I scoffed this time, ignoring her question (I remembered, but had suppressed the memory of the searing, shearing pain of it in lieu of going mad with that replaying in my mind). "Come on," I laughed, glancing at Riddle's statue-like form. "I don't have it _that_ bad for Riddle."

Her smile came back a bit bigger. "You'd be surprised how connected we are despite…well, this." She gestured to us both. "If it would kill me, then it would definitely burn you like you wouldn't believe for him to just up and walk out of your life at this point. Fiendfyre would feel like a nice breeze compared to that."

I rolled my eyes. "I love him. I do. But I'm strong on my own. I have been. I will be."

She shrugged. "Adding my weaknesses and strengths – the ones I've developed up there – to yours that have grown within you down here can be disastrous. Total topsy-turvy and a flip-flop of emotions and perceptions, I guess. That's the point, though. We don't know…. Are you sure you want this?" she asked me. Her eyes glittered a bit – very much like Riddle's do when we have some down time and he slips into that aura of his, that warmth that comes over him. The contrast between his warm glittering eyes and her glitteringly cold gaze despite the utter similarity between them kind of stalled me up for a second.

But I breathed in deeply again. "I've been broken long enough." Her left brow twitched slightly at the change in tone and I pushed forward, running with the swell growing in my tummy. "Take him from me – take my life _now_….They're worthless without my other half," I know how utterly clichéd it sounds – I know how badly you want to smack me for even saying shit like this. But, what can I do? She literally fucking _completes_ me….

She shook her head and uncrossed her arms, smirking. "Ugh. Love is to blame for that, I guess."

I breathed a tense sort of laugh and turned my eyes onto the frozen Riddle. "I guess. I mean, I can do without so much shit because I've had to – so that's just how that is. I can do without _him_ if I forced myself and snorted coke like every three seconds chasing it with three needles full of Tina." Glancing at her cynically raised brow from the corner of my eye, I continued: "But I have no idea what will happen to me if this separation keeps up." She fidgeted beside me. "It's a miracle we haven't died yet, I guess…."

"A miracle for us. Damnation for him…. He's realized I've gone." Her voice had lowered to near a whisper and I caught the dread in it despite the thick layer of calculation covering it. As I turned back to see what had caused this I saw her reach out to me, the focus pouring back into her eyes. But she jerked back a bit as an agonized howl rent the air drowning the slight scraping of a chair on the floor of the Wing. Sounds of hurried and jerky movements reached us from the elders.

"_NO! NO! EMILY! NO!_ LET. ME. _GO! EMILYYYY!_"

"She's gone, dear –"

"Eliot, we mustn't disturb –"

"_NO! LET. GO. OF. ME! EMILY!_"

Eliot's howls echoed piercingly in the Wing and I felt like, for a split second, Jorge had hit me with another dose of that spell that left me disconnected. It disgusted me, the feeling of loss. Loss of perception. Loss of reality. Loss of…life, practically. But it only lasted a second and it didn't happen because of the spell. No, this came from the agony – the pure anguish, pure – _fuck!_ I. Can't. Even. Describe. It. _FUCK_! My God. If you could just hear Eliot…. You better thank whoever the fuck you believe in or don't that you can't. You don't want to know that kind of sadness…that kind of desperation….

Heaving myself out of my lapse in focus, I followed my stronger instinct, lunging forward, vaulting myself over the bed separating us and pushing Madame Marche aside. This movement separated her from Eliot, who seized this opportunity to pitch forward, his face contorted with the manifestation of his agony and tears shining on his cheeks and in his eyes. He reached toward the bed and my eyes followed his to a gut wrenching sight.

"Shit," I released in a gasp and latched onto his hands. I couldn't let him do it. No. I wouldn't. He'd never recover from it. No. "No. Eliot, no. She – oh, God! No, man. Stop, please," I pleaded with him, struggling with him – against his weight, pain and determination to hold her again – trying to keep him from touching the bloody, mangled mass of flesh, bone, blood, sheets and Emily's face. "Eliot, please, please. No. _Please_. You can't."

"LET ME GO!" he bellowed, pulling hard against my grip, cracking something, I think. But I gripped him tighter and pulled harder. "GET OFF!"

"NO!" I yelled back, heaving. Something cracked again, for sure this time. And he froze, eyes glittering with free flowing tears, and then gritted his teeth.

"Fuck you," he pushed through them, bristling, and wriggled his now oddly angled fingers out of my hand. "Fuck you. Burn in Hell with the rest of your family."

"Eliot," I breathed, shocked, saddened, confused – mostly worried about his fingers – but still unable to really fathom what I just saw. It felt like my mind only allowed for me to focus on Eliot's hand while the rest just fell away to the banks of my mind, untouched, unheard, unprocessed, unnamed. All for my mental protection. I tried to reach for him with my left hand while extracting my wand with my right, a whirlwind of images – ghastly images of Emily's exposed ribs, her blistered skin, the blood-soaked sheets and the deadened eyes stuck in her head – swirling through me without a name or destination, but he stepped back – practically jumped away from me.

"_Don't_," he spat, seething. "Never again. I want you out of my life. I swear, her father will have your head for this." His glared seemed to bounce right off of me. I saw it, knew he meant it for me. But as for feeling it, acknowledging its aim or reacting to it: null; it wouldn't happen – the whirlwind was too much.

"Eliot, your fingers," I pushed out, bending to the subliminal order to focus on him and not the actual reality of what happened now. I couldn't override that order no matter how fiercely and quickly the ghastly images swirled within me, now accompanied by an unwanted series of questions and possible answers based on the echoes of what I heard Eliot say just now. I didn't know how to without that piece of me that had dissipated the second I laid eyes on Emily.

"I SAID _NO_! _YOU_ DID THIS!" he shouted, hoarse now, and gestured, cradling his fingers, to the bed. "YOU! You and your bloody maniac of a brother! Can't you have her arrested?' he demanded of someone behind me.

"We've no proof, Eliot, that she was involved. She was attacked as well," I heard Dumbledore say, I think. His voice mingled in with the whirlwind, dragging and sparking the little puddle of dread that had pooled within me. It lit up, crackled to life, small at first. It grew with each of my steadied, measured breaths that my physiological processes had forced me to take in compensation for the heightened pulse and for the sweaty palms. I felt fear and dread but now it burned. Burned and grew. It grew and grew, licking gently at my insides, setting ablaze tinier pools of dread, fear and hatred. Of anger. The flame roared within me soon, screaming for freedom. And I only needed that to smother the sublime order of ignoring everything but Eliot.

"A ruse," Eliot accused and sneered at me.

And I finally felt the weight of his words hit me. "What?" I asked of him, mentally catching up with what he'd said. Well, catching up with what remained for me to catch up with. I didn't have time for this shit, though. "What are you talking about?"

"See? She's – fine now. Totally fine. If he'd – meant – to kill – her, he would've – done her – like Emily!" Eliot spazzed. He gritted his teeth still and squeezed his words out brokenly but they came clearly enough and more clicked right into place.

"Jorge did this?" I asked in a tone that made it sound more like a statement and feeling a strange coldness coming over me as I swept my gaze back over my shoulder to Jorge's bed. The men around it eyed me cagily, quietly. Riddle's eyes locked with mine for a split second and then shot to my counterpart, a flash of crimson spiking once through each of his black irises.

"'_Jorge_'," Eliot spat, a mocking tone injected into the supposed accent that brought my eyes back to him. "'Jorge'. Please. That piece of shit doesn't have a name." His eyes landed, smolderingly darkened and filled with a glint that I'd never seen in them and couldn't ever really imagine seeing in them, on Jorge. It deepened sharply and almost pierced the darkness hovering over it.

"Eliot," said Dippet calmly as he stepped around me and toward him. "Come. There's much to be discussed with Miss Espinoza. Come. You and I will contact Mr. and Mrs. Brown while Professor Dumbledore straightens this out." He had to practically drag Eliot out, but eventually, he got him out of the Wing, leaving me to grill upon the pyre of hatred in the eyes around me.

"What happened?" asked one of the aurors, echoing my thoughts and breaking his stony silence while turning from Jorge's bed with an authoritative strut toward me.

"Thalia, if you please," asked Dumbledore of my counterpart, tilting his head ever so slightly toward the auror and she sneered at him.

"Why should I?" she asked and the auror stopped for a split second, eyes darting between them, confused. Again this mirrored my confusion.

He'd almost taken another step toward me, his wand steady in his hand angled at me, when Dumbledore answered: "Do it, or you both die. As does Mister Riddle."

_SPLAT!_

Warm, sticky and quite freaking disgusting fluid splattered me from head to toe as well as most of everyone else, I assumed from the last thing my slightly re-fogging brain processed before it ordered my lids to protect my eyes from flying human debris. Imagining what I'd see as I wiped at my eyes before opening them, I prepared myself mentally for another blow like the one I had with Emily's corpse. And rightly so. "Fuck, man! What the hell did you _do_ to him?" I'd posed a pretty much rhetorical question seeing as I fucking _saw_ what she did. But still…. "Fucking shit, man. What the fuck! My _God_! How did you – a _grown man's body_!"

"God's not here, love," she said coldly, offhandedly and stepped around the bed separating us, right up to Dumbledore. "You helped him."

"I did." He didn't even seem to have flinched at getting splattered with auror blood, guts and bone fragments. He merely stood, staring right back at her, a stoically calm expression on his lined and sullied face. It angered me and not to mention her.

No I had no idea what the hell she had just asked him about and what he'd admitted to. In fact, I struggled to keep much of what I already had figured out in my mind. But hating him, feeling an uncontrollable, unbridled kind of anger toward the aged wizard, and wanting to simply beat him senseless with my bare hands…that needed no straightening out in my mind. Second nature, it dwelled within me, ready to strike at any moment and here had just cropped up one: he'd helped someone my counterpart hated – there're only so many people she can hate, I feel, that he can help personally while still falling in the shared section of this fucked up Venn Diagram – and that put him right back at the top of my shit list. To tell you the truth, he'd only recently fell down a slot and only because of the memory that had flooded me with old-new information. This new-old news revealed to me, through reminders, what Father Time could and had done (because even if the memory still confused me, I knew damn well _why_). He'd taken top spot for about twenty minutes on my shit list, but now fell back down to this one. _What some people will do to hold on to what has already been lost…. Quoting yourself now, are you? You think you're _that _rad, do you? …Tell me I'm wrong, though…._ The Realist had nothing to say, for once.

She sneered again and turned on her heel. "Let's go," she ordered me before grabbing my arm.

"Wait! What the fuck, man?" I dug my heels into the floor and hoped the rubber of my trainers held against her apparently superhuman strength. (One tug of my arm moved me about four feet with her.) "Wait! I don't get it."

"I told you it wasn't simple," she spat, stopping.

"But Jorge wouldn't –"

"He fucking _did!_" she yelled, turning back to me. "He killed her. He killed another man at the bar. He will kill you and me and Riddle before Father Time even gets here if we don't move _now_! It is his _job_!"

"I'm not going to kill my brother." My voice had evened out, a steady and unwavering statement expressed from unstrained muscles. It frightened me as much as it eased the roiling in my stomach.

"I will, then."

I hadn't heard that voice in what felt like forever – even with the memory still echoing within me, but its tine struck the very chord in my chest that needed striking for me to finally tip over the God damned edge I'd teetered on this entire fucking circuit for him. I'd pulled my wand out for Eliot's fingers but I would have to use it on that voice's owner, apparently. "And I'll kill you," I began, landing my eyes on Riddle, covered in as much blood as me, "if you don't let me get shit straight."

His face blanked for a second and then he smirked. "Right. Of course. And the secrets continue. It's not enough that you're part of Grindelwald's army –"

"_What_?" I interjected incredulously. My brows furrowed and his arched elegantly, sarcastically.

"What, indeed. What has the Espinoza family been up to?" He let his wand hand relax and then eyed the other auror (I'd almost forgotten him save for his bewilderedly horrified expression) before gesturing for him to continue despite his shock at having just seen his partner fucking explode.

He blinked a few times to focus, I assumed, and then nodded. "Y-yes. Well, you see. This gentleman here," he gestured to the bed, "had a mark on his arm that we've come to associate recently with Grindelwald's army. He orders all of his deeds' locations be marked with the eye – to claim ownership."

I narrowed my eyes, brows still furrowed, and shrugged in utter annoyance now, lacking the information I needed. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I demanded of the auror.

"That's Top Secret Reconnaissance Information for now, Miss. I can't tell you until you've been questioned. I'll need to take you in –"

I cut the large man off with a wave of my free hand and jerked at the one my counterpart still gripped. "Tell me or you join your partner."

Seamlessly, she cooperated and began to raise her hand with her fingers held loosely on it as if conducting a small, peaceful piece. He paled and swallowed.

"The eye. The _eye_, Miss. The triangular eye!" Practically scurrying away from her like a roach from a can of Raid, he made his way over to Jorge's left side and pulled back his blood spattered and slightly scorched bomber jacket to reveal his upper arm. The triangular eye stared at me from there, made the more apparent by the auror's larger finger pointing to it. "Are you marked with the same eye, Miss?" he asked timidly as she and I stepped forward.

She gripped my arm tighter, more painfully and started hissing raspingly, angrily.

Confused, utterly fucking nonplussed, I just shook my head at the auror and tried to step closer to Jorge. Riddle blocked me and pointed his wand into my stomach, singing the jumper Emily had picked out for me just that morning. _Is this really still Valentine's Day? …You expected something else? …Maybe…. A bit to do with that pink dress she bought for you…? _A forceful mental brake to these thoughts forced the rising bile in my esophagus back down. Not the time for grieving…or fairytales.

"Any closer and you don't even get to say goodbye," he stated, in the tone I hadn't heard since last circuit – the one for his Death Eaters. I stopped in my tracks. "Explain." With a chin jerk toward the other Thalia, who continued to hiss angrily but with a more determined tone it sounded like, he stared at me and waited.

I chanced a glance at her (she gripped me still, very painfully tight, but her eyes darted around – to the windows, the walls, the door, the beds, the Petrified boy – and she would pause periodically to sum something up mentally, it seemed), and then shrugged, a grimace tugging at my left cheek. "I dunno, Riddle." He scoffed and I raged. "I. Don't. Fucking. Know. Look, all I know is she and I," I gestured between my counterpart and myself, "were ripped apart a long time ago when I tried – oh for fuck's sake! Do you know what a Traveler is?" I demanded, slightly past the point where my stomach churned at the thought of revealing the secret I'd meant to keep for a bit longer in this circuit.

He smirked. Then he joined in the other Thalia's guttural hissing.

She paused and smirked up at him. "Nice. I didn't even know Alexius had come here."

"Under Salazar's time apparently, in one of his many, many circuits," he provided, still smirking.

I cocked a brow. "Huh?"

"Alexius was one of the first Travelers born," she said, also still smirking and letting my arm go to gesture at Riddle. "Casanova here found a book Alexius wrote. You've seen it. Anyway, he just said it's like an owner's manual, kind of." She frowned and asked, "Could I see this book?"

"Not until you explain."

"It's a fucking book."

"It's my fucking life."

I cut her next counter off. "It's still my motherfucking confusion. What the hell are you two on about?"

She smirked down at me. "Don't be jealous. We're the same person and I'm not flirting with him." I cocked the same damn brow again. She snickered. "Sorry. It just looked like –"

"Dude, least of my problems right now, seriously. What the fuck happened today?" I felt my annoyance subside and reality hit me again. "Why is my friend dead?"

She grimaced and Riddle's smirk faded into that tight line. "After he attacked you, he tried for us. Emily surprised him. I think she meant to take him down herself," Riddle provided and his words felt like lava in my stomach. I shook my head disbelievingly and he nodded, forcing me to accept his truth. "She never had a chance. You see, you taught her bravery and strength in the face of danger to replace her dependence on men, but you never showed her how to back it up. You fed her empty words." And there with the softened tone, hidden underneath his contempt, I could almost hear the "like you did to me" there in it. I heard it, imbibed it, but didn't call him out on it.

"I never lied to you," I told him and stepped around him to Jorge. He didn't block me a second time but to his right Black did fidget a bit. I looked at him and almost smiled. He looked genuinely frightened. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, these things – Black's fear and Riddle's tone and unspoken words – registered and stayed for later when I could analyze them properly. Then I looked back down at Jorge. "I have no one here and I didn't know where my brother was the last time I saw him…in 1997…."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked quietly with a thin layer of weakened cold calculation beneath his feigned stoicism. Joining me as I peeled back Jorge's jacket and stared at the triangular eye again, he waited for my answer.

Shrugging, I gave it: "I couldn't."

"It's illegal…." He paused and observed me while I bit back a smile. Déjà vu. "Déjà vu?"

I nodded and shifted toward him. "I don't want a repeat…not a full one anyway. It's why…it's why I will go further against his Laws now. They can't hold me back anymore." They really couldn't, I'd realized upon her telling me that my loophole actions and decisions fell out of his control. Do you remember my memory of Riddle sifting through the memories of the first circuit using Legilimency? Do you remember how when I'd accepted Riddle's proposal of marriage in that first circuit – how when I'd come ever so close to breaking the Law of 'too big changes' – I'd received a burn from the Time Turner on my chest? Have I gotten burned recently by this thing?

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about," he uttered under his breath.

I smirked and pushed onto my toes to brush my lips against his for a second, ignoring the residual stickiness of the auror's blood coating both of our lips, smudging into skin on our faces and matting out clothes. "Thank God."

"God isn't here," the other Thalia said.

"But I am," came a sharp, otherworldly voice and I fell back onto the soles of my feet. "It's over," a man over by Dumbledore continued. The stooped, white-robed figure rounded his blinded eyes over onto my other half and sneered. "You're running out of time, brat."

"Not nearly, Chronos," she shot back and turned to face him but angled herself between him and the rest of us near Jorge's bed, who'd all turned to face the scene. "Wake him and he dies," she snapped, raising her hand again – as she did to threaten the remaining auror behind me, as she'd done before forcing something into his partner's body and murdering him.

But I couldn't allow this. I just couldn't. Yes, Jorge had done…a lot of bad things, apparently. But. But I still saw his honey and blue-streaked eyes as warm as the day I first stepped onto the Hogwarts Express with him – God knows how many years ago – and he sat with me in a totally empty compartment, never once leaving me during my first trip to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I still remembered the good that existed in him despite my insecurities trying to eat at me all my life – the biggest one that Mom had left us because of me – and which always managed to wrap itself around me most securely. His love. I remembered him like that. Not like the murderer they described. Not like this dangerous weapon Father Time had somehow turned on us. Because she had insinuated that, right? 'Put back things that were never meant to move'…? She must have meant him.

How else could I explain his presence here? The lack of a rope-thick silver chain around his neck, holding a custom Time Turner to him, indicated his Non-Traveler status (not to mention the fact that I'd never seen him at any of the 'Crossroads' or during the journeys back to my period). So how else could he have gotten here? Chronos. Father Time. The Reaper. All his names seemed to fit him perfectly right now and that pushed me forward against my own self. I would no longer fear him. I would no longer fear anyone with anything resembling his power and strength.

"He won't. You'll kill me first," I told her and slid onto the edge of Jorge's bed.

She didn't turn to face me but I could see her muscles tense underneath the black wife-beater she wore. She spoke, still facing the old man, "You don't know what you're doing, Thali. Please, just…just let me deal with this." She paused, waiting for my shouted refusal. It didn't come (you try not fearing the most powerful being you've known so far anymore in one shot). "We want the _same exact thing_…. Let me get it for us…. Let me do this…."

She spoke the truth. Although she'd yet to say why she even really came down here when she could easily just have taken her reign from Chronos up in the Hall of Time and undone all the damage down here in the blink of eye (if she so wished), I knew why she did it: she wants the same exact thing that I do. And, don't get it twisted. I can understand full well how that can come off as purely obsessive over Riddle – hell, even I thought so just a bit ago before really thinking this through and pulling as much instinctual knowledge as I could by proxy from her mere proximity to me (from our pseudo reconnection, if you will). But understand one thing, all of you, please: the one thing that we really want is not just Riddle; he is merely a branch in the tree that bears the fruit of our Happiness. No, what we want, what really makes us fight so hard for just this tiny piece – because this tiny piece will lead to the fitting in of the rest of the pieces – presents as just Peace and Happiness in our lives…as _one_. We just want wholeness again. Wholeness in every aspect. Wholeness in our form. Wholeness in our heart and mind. Wholeness in our love – Riddle. We want a place to live in peace with just him, in love, safe and sound, raising a family. Nothing more.

But, sometimes, even in the face of that Happiness, that Wholeness – _centimeters away from it_ – you need to realize that the Truth, sheer Honesty and Playing Fair, just outweigh everything else.

I know. I didn't fucking expect this either, trust me. I really thought that the moment I knew I had this so close to me – the moment I had a way to just fucking leave this existence and take on another that would allow me to make of my life what I want and need and yearn for – I'd take it and run. I never thought, with all my years of using my conscience to save a soul everyone else had deemed unworthy of saving (did you really think I was the only Traveler to come by Tom Riddle? Apparently this Alexius had even come by his ancestor and didn't do shit), with all my love poured into him, that I'd have even a drop of love left or that my conscience could survive a choice like this one. But I do have love left and my conscience just keeps pushing harder and harder, hurting me to make me stand my ground.

"No, Thalia." I stood from the bed and pointed my wand at the back of Riddle's head. He stiffened visibly, tearing something inside me as he did so. And I know she didn't even need to look back at us to see what I did. She knew as well as I what outweighed this all of a sudden. She knew and had tried to outweigh it herself with the connection between her and me. It almost worked too. "Wake him, Chronos. I want the truth."

The stooped figure's face split into a wide smile as he ambled past her and Riddle and then, before reaching Black, he stopped at the foot of Jorge's bed. He smirked now.

"I want the truth from you, too, old fool. Do not forget that the only reason she hasn't killed you yet is because of the level of strength that you still possess has yet to wane down to a point where she can overcome you – her strength grows as yours dies. Remember that."

His smile didn't fade. "I do, child. But it is not the reason for which I still live…. But you will understand soon enough. Won't she, brat?" He'd angled his head slightly toward her, waiting for an answer, but received nothing more than an even tenser tightening of the muscles in her back. He smirked even wider and turned back to Jorge. A wave of his claw-like hand in an arc over the foot of the bed produced a pale green mist right over Jorge's feet.

It spread from there. Slowly, like fog over a moor, the mist crept and crawled, slithered and seeped over the entire bed until a misty, green dome encased the space in a blurry, wavy bubble of a sight. Then it solidified.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, my stomach clenching painfully. _I should have let her kill him_, I thought angrily, hating myself and quickly trying to figure out how to break the now glowing dome before he ran out of air in there…or worse….

"Relax. He's just healing him," came her voice from my left. I glanced that way and saw that she'd joined me, quite relaxed, near the bed. But she stood more towards Riddle's side and a glance downward showed me that she and I had the same way of holding Riddle's hand between the both of ours. "You could so easily just use Dark magic," she commented, bringing me out of my thoughts on that bit. Honestly, I didn't know what to feel at that – jealousy, calm, relief, gratitude. I opted for passing until later when I could think it through and then jumped on the last bit she said.

"Dark magic?" I asked her, wondering on what she'd expected me to use it. But she didn't answer and in a second I saw why.

The faint green glow that the solidified version of the dome had given off now disappeared from the corner of my eye and I snapped my eyes toward Jorge. The dome had gone – dissipated, judging by the tiny curls of miasmic residue coiling upward into nothingness – and I now stared at the healed, cleaned and seemingly rejuvenated version of my brother. It felt like I'd gone back to Christmas of 1996 and he'd fallen asleep on his old bed in our house. Peaceful and undisturbed, he seemed angelic – incapable of the monstrous things these people accused him of…incapable of what I already knew he'd done to me, at least.

But even angels have their wicked schemes, don't they?

"_Avada Kedavra!_" shrieked Jorge in an unrecognizable, totally-not-his voice that echoed shrilly off of the high ceiling and the walls as green light spread out over us all from his spell.

And I waited, my heart completely still like every other cell in my body – void of any movement or processes, for the _thudsmack_ that always sounded from floors like the ones in the Wing when someone fell on them. None came and for one excruciatingly long and scary moment, I thought he'd hit _me_ with the spell. Of course, he did: that's why my heart had stopped along with everything else in my body; that's why I didn't hear anyone else around me falling or screaming for that matter.

"Fuck yea," came the familiar deep tone that had blanketed my earlier teen years. "I can't believe that shit actually fucking worked."

When had my eyes closed? No matter. I opened them and found myself face to face with a smirking Jorge.

"Bloody useful, that," he said and hopped off the bed to quickly walk around me, Riddle and the other Thalia, both of whom had done a quarter turn from the flash as I had. Now we all stood side by side and watched the tall, caramel-skinned man, walk around to stand on Black's other side. "Fucking A, it really does work."

"What works?" asked the other Thalia, an angry inflection to her tone.

Jorge looked up at me and then did a double take, smirking. "Oh good!" he exclaimed, throwing himself onto the bed again and sliding off gracefully on the other side, right in front of us again. "You've not reconnected with her yet." He nodded, still smiling, as if appraising a child's schoolwork. "Good. I can kill you both." He raised his wand and had begun to hiss the Killing Curse again – I could see green starting to poke out of the tip of his wand – and I froze, unsure of who he'd aim at first.

"Bloody _fuck_!" Thalia yelled and threw out her right hand as fast as lightning, halting it right in front of the wand. "What the fuck _is_ that?" Her question, obviously aimed at Jorge, seemed really, really, really stupid. What the fuck else did she think the Havada Kedavra would do?

"_You_ should know," Jorge mocked and then lowered his wand, almost bored. He cocked an eyebrow at her and then smirked again. "Hug?" he asked, spreading his arms wide.

She didn't budge.

He frowned a bit, mockingly and then turned to me. "How about you, huh? Come on, Thali, hug your big bro. His voice had lowered from its previous near obnoxious tine down to a dangerously silky one that slithered up my spine, frigidly.

No. I wouldn't budge either. I'd made a horrible mistake, hadn't I? "I fucked up," I uttered softly, reaching to my side a bit to tap my counterpart. "Do it. Do it now."

"It's never a mistake to want the truth, young one," came Chronos' raspy voice from the foot of the bed, rather loudly. I turned to him and stared. "No, I've not gone mad – nor have I ever meant you any harm, young one. _You_ have suffered dearly for those around you and in turn you will make the one person who loves you _truly_ suffer like no one else can. I only ever meant to keep this from happening, little one. Remember that, yes?"

I shook my head, confused. "What?"

"No! Chronos! No!" The other Thalia ripped her hand from in front of Jorge's face and lunged forward onto the bed, reaching out toward the elder. But she'd moved too slowly and too late.

A milky white glow had outlined him upon her first yell and by the time she'd scrambled to the foot of the bed and threw herself forward, it had encased him like the green mist had encased Jorge. Whatever that encasement did to make him disappear from the spot into nothingness (the same one from whence he'd come, I suppose), the strength of it doing that pushed her backward in mid-launch and she landed backward on her heels on the bed.

"FUCK!"I heard her through the slight ringing in my ears that came from whatever ultrasonic vibrations that white encasement had given off and saw her pounding her clenched fists onto the mattress in fury. "Fuck. Jorge, talk. NOW!"

Jorge put his arms down and smirked over his shoulder at her. "What's the magic word?" he mocked.

"It's not for me. It's for her," she said, jerking her chin from her oddly prostrated position on the bed at me. "She hasn't done anything wrong yet."

"You can't have it both ways," Jorge sniped at her and then turned to me. "She's already made her decision and the line has already begun to fall apart. She did _this_," he gestured to the other beds in the Wing – the empty beds on either side of the ones we'd occupied today. "By now they should have been full of Petrified students – and by May one should have died!" His eyes, blue-streaked honey, enraged and glinted viciously, bore into mine and he stepped closer to me. But he didn't stay there. He moved to the left, to stand in front of Riddle. "All thanks to this one. This one should never have been attacked – he should have never found out about the baby, never learned what a Traveler is, never even understood Time Travel to begin with. And yet," he paused, his eyes meeting Riddle's. "The red was already there, but now it is dying…. He knows…he knows and it is in him…." He turned back to her on the bed. "He knows and it is in him and because of that" his voice had risen to a loud shout, bouncing off of the walls at me but now it lowered into an almost resigned tone. "…because of that…I have nothing left to do but destroy her world as she's destroyed mine."

"Even if somewhere, inside, you know she's still just a little girl? Just still you baby sister?" she asked him, pushing herself into a kneeled position on the bed. "Still the little thing that you held at night, and sang to sleep?"

I guess, somewhere, behind all the resentment at getting referenced in their conversation as nothing more than a baby, I had hoped that, even if the whole of it didn't make sense, this tiny bit (the bit where he's supposed to be stirred emotionally by her words) would. I guess I'd hoped that he'd nod and everything would at least go up from there. But then again, my hopes – from when I'd sprouted a tiny mutation of hope in my chest toward changing Riddle earlier this school year – have yet to really go right….

"That little thing I sang to sleep, my baby sister, this _little girl_," he yelled, pointing at me, his face still in hers, "has been taking my life apart bit by motherfucking bit since she was _born_! First my mother – who _loved_ me, by the way – leaves because she can't handle a son who sets stoves on fire by accident because he's excited about having a baby sister. She leaves because she can't stand the idea that she married into _brujeria*_ and that her children will be just like their father…. She leaves because she can't handle the idea of having bred two little monsters: Jorge and Thalia." He turned to face me in my frozen hurt and smirked viciously. "Jorge and Thalia. Brother and sister. _Blood_…. And she took my mother from me."

"Our mother left because she was weak," she said from the bed, coldly. "She couldn't stand the idea that she wasn't special – as special as her children. She left because she was a Muggle and we weren't. Period."

Jorge nodded, smirking still. "Fine…. Then how do you explain my wife? My children?" He dug his left hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out an odd remote-control shaped thing. He pushed something at the bottom of it and what I suppose served as an interface screen lit up, bright. At the top of this screen, a time and date flashed steadily up at me and from the very bottom, a little square with an arrow on it glowed at the left end of a linear thing that read 'slide to unlock'. He slid the little square and the thing made an almost artificial unlocking sound. But it still sounded real. I can't really explain. Then he brought the apparatus up to his eye level and on the back I saw what looked like the Macintosh symbol except this one lacked color: it was purely white on the shiny black surface of the thing. "How do you explain that the only thing I have to remember them is these two pictures?" he continued angrily and then swung the hand with the apparatus around to her so as to let her see what he'd done on the screen.

She didn't look at the screen, only set her eyes firmly fixed on his face. "She hasn't done anything yet," she repeated determinedly.

"She's decided…. That's enough…." He turned swiftly to me. "Look," he ordered, whipping the apparatus up my face now. "Look at what your decisions have taken away. Your own flesh and blood!"

I jerked, reflex reaction from thinking he might beat me to death at this point with the flattened rectangular prism type thing. But upon seeing that he didn't move again, I focused on the image on the screen. A pretty woman of about twenty-two-ish looked back at me, smiling hugely from the screen, with two small bundles in her arms. One bundle, a tiny newborn baby, someone had wrapped in a pink blanket while the other donned a baby-blue one. I didn't really recognize them though, so I went unmoved. And he saw that.

"No? Okay, look at the other one," he ordered, somehow shifting his hand around the apparatus so that his finger could swipe across the screen to his right and from his left switched in a new image. The woman looked about twenty-six now. The babies – twins obviously – had probably just turned four and looked back at me with my own eyes. Did my eyes really have the hazel streaks like theirs did? Well, I guess they did seeing as I'd passed them on to them along with my hair and lighter complexion. My ears too. My chin. I adored them already, these babies. "But you will never know them," Jorge stated icily, pressing a button on top of the apparatus – it made an artificial yet real sounding locking sound – and stowing it back in his pocket. He did that on purpose. He'd seen me leaning forward a bit, drawn in by the radiant smiles of the three people – especially of the two little ones – and ripped them from me. He ripped them from me just as I'd apparently ripped them from him.

"I don't understand," I told him softly.

"Don't," the other Thalia ordered coldly and slipped off of the bed to push Jorge back away from me onto the bed. "You will _not_ pass your blame of carelessness onto her. Whatever the fuck happened to them, happened because you weren't there to protect them. That's your problem –"

"– it happened because she's standing here right now, pretending to not understand when in all reality we all know where the fuck the understanding lies," he accused from the bed. She stood directly in front of him, so I couldn't see the look on his face, but the renewed tensing of her muscles gave me a clue to as to what he'd just referred to.

He hadn't meant _me_…but he had…in a way.

I glanced over my shoulder to Dumbledore, who stood passively by Emily, practically _smiling_ by now and totally at ease. Never mind that Jorge had just shot out the Killing Curse – wait…. So much had happened so quickly in just a few minutes that it totally slipped to the fringes of my mind that someone had just died…. But who? Three times I scanned the Wing, double-taking each time at the blank look on Riddle's face and the crease of concentration on Black's, but I found no corpse.

"Still have no idea who I've killed, have you?" asked Jorge mockingly and I swiveled my head around to look at him, a steely glare fixing into my eyes. He merely shook his head and snickered. "Totally oblivious to anyone but yourself…_always_. But then again, I guess it is in your nature to just look past authority figures…." He jerked his chin to my right, letting his gaze find the floor, where a slight chip had formed. "He was standing right behind you not ten minutes ago."

Fixing my gaze on the chipped stone of the floor, for I'd juggled it between him and the floor for a couple of seconds, I let the nasty realization that his words boded truth wash over me. I'd always had an issue with authority and aurors…well, my Dad remained the only to this day that I actually took seriously. But the one who'd not twenty minutes before watched his partner splatter us all with his blood and debris, well, him I hardly even counted as human for how easily he scared. Never mind how scary the idea of getting blown to bits by an unknown magic that I have yet felt too terrified of to even ask or ponder about past knowing that it came as a result of this mess. I just think that even if you get scared, you should stand by your ground. Even dead I would have respected his corpse more than I did right now if he'd just taken me in for questioning like he said he needed to. But he didn't. So I don't. And Jorge smirked, seeing the conclusion I'd drawn about his words.

I nodded. "Fine. I could care less that he's dead – you're right. But how? The disappearing act, how?"

He smirked even wider and repeated, "_You_ should know." He turned to the other Thalia again and asked, "Have you seen past these new decisions of hers – seen what will happen now on this timeline?"

She gave a stiff shake of the head and started a bit at his high pitched cold laugh. "What difference will it make? I'm here now. I'll take them to another line if I need to."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You're still so fucking _young_…. You know what? No," he said standing from the bed. "No. Don't bother. I've already come this far, lost so much and you know what? I don't think I even _want_ to fix anything anymore."

"What?" we both asked of him. "You're not a Traveler," she blurted, most affronted.

He shook his head. "No. Well, not a born Traveler anyway. I've been made a Traveler –"

"– you can't _make_ Travelers –"

"– ah, ah, ah," he chided gently, shaking his head again and smirking still. "Thanks to something I bet came from _your_ stores," he continued with an affected little bow of the head toward her. "Any born or made Traveler can now pass his or her abilities onto or share them with another person – Non-Traveler, of course. The catch with the sharing though – you only get a set amount of circuits each and only one loop. So, it's best to just pass over the entire ability – the Time Turner and the endurance magic – but then the original Traveler gets demoted back to…_mere mortal_." His emphasis on these last two words brought a sick smile to his face and it stayed there as he turned to me, digging in his jeans pocket. He extracted a rope-thick chain from which hung a tiny hourglass with black sand in it. "He really is just trying to save you," he said to me, eyeing the hourglass and stowing it once more. "You have no idea what you've done and all he tried – all he sacrificed his own already demoted abilities for was to save you the pain you're forcing yourself through where we come from."

"Where do you come from? When?"

"2012…the end of the world apparently." He scoffed and then turned back to her. "You'd be surprised how close we actually are to fulfilling Mayan prophecy. Thanks to you and your husband, of course."

"My _what_?" I demanded.

"Ah, so she knows you're the other half of her," he stated, happily turning back to me with a leer.

"I'm not stupi –"

"I beg to differ." He cut me off and dug the apparatus out of his pocket again and did the same thing to the screen again, setting it alight. He touched a little square picture on the screen that looked like it had one of those old fashioned microphones on it and then the screen changed to another one where what looked like a list appeared. He touched on one item and the apparatus spoke. It had my voice:

"'_I won't. I won't let them have him. I swear._'"

"I'll show you who you were referring to and _why_ you really are as stupid as you claim not to be." With this said, he touched more things on the apparatus and passed through a few more images, that I didn't quite catch. I'd immersed myself in my own voice – my own frantic and rushed words. _I won't let them have him_. Who the fuck else could I have meant? The only 'him' I ever got that panicky over…the only 'him' I ever wanted to protect…

But he'd lifted the apparatus to me and gestured for me to take it. I did and it felt slightly heavy in my hand but I knew that only came as a result of my state of shock and forced endurance. I meant to keep pushing on but it drained me by the minute and now this tiny thing in my hand that, now that I saw it clearly, had more buttons on one side with a tiny switch, felt heavier than it really boded. But I looked down at the screen anyway, fully expecting a picture of Riddle in 2012 – however he'd look then – and almost dropped the thing.

"Oh, so he'll allow _you_ to break whatever Laws you feel like breaking?" spat the other Thalia and snatched the phone from me. Because I know knew that about the apparatus: it's a phone. Something called an iPhone. I'd never heard of it but I knew what it could do. I'd never seen one before today, but I knew that it shouldn't even work in here. I'd never seen it before and yet I have.

Slowly – relentlessly, though – the image that I'd seen on the screen, flushed into me, filled me like an ice bath, warmed up by boiling water, forced more images of the little person – images I've never seen – into my mind. Images of this person smiling hugely, images of this little one's black eyes shining with tears – the ever present 'crying child' picture every parent feels the need to take of their baby – images of him with his father, his mother, his unborn baby sister or brother in his Mommy's tummy…. Slowly, relentlessly, these images poured in and I…I gave in. I stopped my anger dead in its tracks, forced myself to not want to smack Jorge – consequently forcing myself to believe the present truth about him (him attacking me and killing Emily as well as two others apparently) – and leaned forward a bit, my instincts – brand new in me now yet ancient and dormant until that little person came into my life – pushing me forward onto the path of least resistance toward saving the tiny human.

"Who wants him?" I croaked. "_WHO_?" My hands found Jorge's sleeves and clutched them tightly, pulling hard on them to make him hear me. To make him answer me, even if, deep inside, I knew he wouldn't.

He sniggered, a vicious tinge to the throaty sound. "Forget it, Thali," he told me, smirking, eyes agleam with pure delight. Shaking his head he continued. "I lose mine, you lose yours. I lose my mother, you lose yours. I lose my family and _you lose yours_." The emphasis on these three little words, as affected and inflected (more toward cold than warm) as they came, didn't scare me anywhere near as much as the gleam in his eyes. The blue streaks in the honey that his irises shone with seemed to glow to near neon wavelengths and I stepped back, cut down, shattered. "Do you even understand what's going on?"

"Enough of it."

"Sometimes enough works, though," he countered with a nod and a thoughtful expression. "I don't need to explain." He didn't. I honestly could care less at this point what the fuck had happened by 2012 because of my decisions now – what destruction I'd caused along this timeline or who died as a result. I only cared about that little boy. His black eyes shone out to me even without the picture in front of me and, yes, Jorge had said it right: sometimes enough works. It did. I had no idea what came before this little boy or how he even came into the world – what _kind_ of world he came into. But I didn't need it. I just needed to know that someone wanted him – to hurt him judging by my panicked voice on the iPhone thing – and I'd caused him to reach that point with my foolish, foolish decisions now, in this present of 1943. I only need to know that and by giving me just that information – just _enough_ – Jorge effectively stopped me. "Are we done here?" he asked of me, with a slight grin toward a now stunned, but not uninformed Thalia.

I nodded stiffly and stepped away a bit. "Just one more thing, please?"

"Anything for my baby sister." The tone mocked me but the light in his eyes – a dying light that barely reached the surface – kind of jolted me to counter the ache of the mock.

"Help me make sure I won't back down from this new decision…please?"

His forehead creased slightly, his eyes letting that dying light shine though a bit more, and he leered. "What?"

"I don't want to back down. I don't want to risk that anymore. I…can't…. Please help me. Don't let me do it."

"How?"

"No," interjected the other Thalia, pulled from her shock by my words. "NO!"

"You know how," I said quietly and stepped back away from her this time. He hesitated so I yelled, "DO IT!"

Raising his wand again, he began to speak the words before it even leveled out with me. "_Avada_ –" An unanswered question ran through my head then and I resigned, as his wand leveled with my face, to never have the answer as to how he'd made the body disappear with this curse. "– _Kedavr –_" Green light had begun to spill from his wand – had sent out several thin, bright green strands of deadly magic out toward me, only one coming less than an inch from my nose – when, with a nasty gurgling sound cutting off the spell in his throat, Jorge went limp. And as if in slow motion – really just my own stress and fear induced warping of the perception in which I viewed this now – his wand slipped from his limp fingers and his whole arm turned to something like jelly. The wand twisted as it fell and his arm, much like his eyelids, simply fell to his side as the rest of him joined the clattering wand on the floor with a _thudsmack_.

* * *

><p>It never ceases to amaze me, really, what some people will do to hold on to something that has begun to slip away. This, the thought of losing what I loved most – of losing anything and everything related to it, pushed me to this. It made me capable of murder, not once but <em>twice<em>. It made me kill my own brother….

Her face reflected nothing at first other than the delayed reaction to the green light that had begun to spill from his wand. But now, as the seconds passed with a tiny echo of his flesh smacking the stone of the floor and his weight falling with a _thud_, her expression changed. Confusion. Worry. Questioning. Shock as she looked down from the void where Jorge once stood to his crumpled form on the floor. Another question. Then blankness for two, three, four, five, six…ten seconds.

She growled, shrieked and yelled her fury, her pain, her sadness, her…destruction, I guess. But she didn't just make noise. She spazzed on the spot, jerking her wand hand up and swinging it about and around ending with an eerily calm flourish and halted right at my face. She'd started speaking but her movements and the echoes of her fury drowned her hiss so I couldn't hear the spell. But I didn't worry. My instincts shot out and contained her magic before anything happened. My magic, my strength and developed forces from the Hall of Time and from the tiny bit that Father Time had used so long ago to save this piece of human, shot out and encased not only the magic in her wand but the magic swirling wildly around her, within her, begging to lash out. It stunted her just as it had Jorge a bit ago. "Let. Go." Her order came quietly and with a dangerous tone that I couldn't take seriously even from her. But still. I eased the pressure on her, letting just enough magic for her rage to begin to leak away, drop by drop, escape its confines.

"I did it for us," I told her. "You need to focus. He used you."

"You killed my brother –"

"– yeah and he was my brother too," I cut her off. "It hurts me too. But it hurts me more to watch you dive off the deep end for something you haven't even thought out."

"I've thought it out _plenty_. I'm not stupid – I know what I'm giving up!"

"Do you?"

"I can do without him, I've already told you!"

"I'm not talking about Riddle, Thalia." I kept my voice calm and even, as best as I could anyway. I understood her anger – I understood perfectly well. I did. I saw him too, the little boy. I saw his shining eyes – filled with joy – looking up at me too. I saw the images too that came with him – learned about this iPhone thing in my hand. I felt it all too. I realized, as much as she did, who he was and where he came from. I realized, with a pang – about the same time I took the phone from her – that our actions now would lead to his eventual demise, to his death and our agony. But, while she stopped thinking there and then turned to Jorge for the obvious help he offered her, with finesse in his acting skills that had developed from years and years of betrayal in the face of more betrayal, of releasing her from her temptation through death, I kept thinking. Sure, he could kill her now, leave me to die – a host-less parasite, practically – a slow and agonizing death wherever I went, and assure a safe future with the perks of a possibly Voldemort-less time line seeing as Riddle, having seen this and having _felt_ so much already, wouldn't fall prey to the crimson in his soul. He could easily save himself and his family – something she's wanted to do since the first circuit, but quite understandably got sidetracked from. But really, taking into account what he wants to save, what he used to manipulate her into his plan and what will lead to all of those factors' existence in the first place, it would all get wiped from existence with her death, wouldn't it? The little boy would never exist if she didn't go through with this because, how can he? His mother would have died and his father would have gone on to other callings, probably another woman and another family…. No…. She has no idea of what she just tried to give up.

"He will be safer if I just stop now."

"He will never exist."

She paused, a struggle waging within her momentarily, then she nodded. "I know…. But sometimes…sometimes like now, I think…I feel it would be better for him not to exist in a world where he might get hurt than to fall into the wrong hands."

"You're a coward," I accused, angered by this. Fine. She'd thought it through, but had come to the wrong conclusion. The cowardly conclusion. She looked taken aback and I snapped again. "Anyone at any point in time can get hurt – you _know_ this. You _live_ by this and fear nothing because of that. One little boy – the most special little boy comes along and you can't hold on to that?"

"It's different. He's special."

"He is."

"Yes. So I can't risk him."

"You mean you can't risk feeling that fear…. Two seconds with a picture showed you what you're to have, if not what you've done, and you chicken the fuck out?" She didn't answer so I kept going. "It gets taken away and you handle it like this? Coward."

"He will be safer."

"YOU MUST FIGHT FOR HIM!" She started a bit. "He is your son, Thalia. Mothers fight for their children. Mothers do not quit…. Or are you just like Thalia Marielena?"

* * *

><p>Acid washed over me. Icy acid. Cold and hot. Hot and stinging cold over a layer of anger at which it ate. Did she really just compare me to…?<p>

"Stand the fuck up and deal with this. I can explain everything you don't understand – I can make this make sense again and I can fix the problems to come. But I need you to stand."

But, and she said it herself, he's my son. My baby. How could I put him in danger knowingly? How could I do what I _know_ will cause him harm? What kind of mother does that?

She seemed to read my thoughts, much like she'd taken to doing as of the last few minutes and answered me with a step forward and a stroke of the cheek. "What would you have done in your mother's place?"

"I'd have stayed."

"Because you understand your own life without her: a child without a mother in a world full of hate, anger and prejudice. And why? Because that mother couldn't get past her own hate, anger and prejudice – her own _fear_ for her two little ones…." She paused, stroking my cheek still, and eyed me. "Will you do that _your_ little one? Will you take his life away as your mother took yours – and she did, even if you're still breathing – just because you're scared you might not be able to protect him?"

I swallowed a lump threatening to form in my throat, determined to say my piece and speak for my child. "What if I can't? What if I fail? …He deserves something better."

"To have something better he needs to exist and he can only exist from the two of you."

I scoffed. "Fine," I said, seeing my way out of this. "But do you think _he_ will even want to be with –"

"– already taken care of on my end."

"And mine?" I asked coolly.

"I will make it the same end," she said, tossing the phone onto the bed from her other hand and bringing that one hard and fast upward toward my face. She never touched me with it, never even grazed me. But the force of whatever she did with it stung like a half-dozen hot knives on my right cheek and from there it spread over the rest of my face and down to my neck and collar. But now a half-dozen knives turned into dozens and dozens. Slicing away at my flesh, these hot knives elicited screams from me, I know. But I didn't hear them. I only heard a powerful rushing sound – a large river sloshing down a slope in the terrain through a thick forest. Cool and fresh, that water, so close I could almost taste it, taunted me. It roared its power and iciness into my ears while the hot knives cut into me all over now – arms, legs, torso, my core – blistering the flesh within me.

Soon, the pain of this – the unspeakable pain she'd told me about – resulted too much for my already weakened mental state to handle and I felt myself fall. Heavy. I'd gained, what, a hundred pounds? I fell to the ground and couldn't move, still burning, bleeding, and blistering with that horrible river nearby, denying me relief….

When had I shut my eyes?

* * *

><p>"I think I've figured this thing out mostly. I just can't really seem to understand how it works here – it's obviously battery powered."<p>

"How do you know?"

"It just flashed something about twenty percent of the battery power remaining."

"She's coming out of REM sleep, Professor," I heard Madame Marche say clearly over the distant nearly incoherent rumblings of who sounded like Riddle and Black.

"Good. I believe before anything, Mr. Riddle would like to speak with her."

Hearing that pushed me a little to pull myself up out of this heavy state – out of this darkness. Once the fogginess that had come on instinct while I suffered slice after slice from the hot knives in an attempt to protect myself from reality cleared away, and I could consciously feel my lids on my eyes, I forced myself to open them. The first try failed, of course. What the fuck do you want? You try waking up after that shit. I tried again and got about a quarter of the way open, able to see some blurry outlines of shadows through the thin slits. Again, I tried and this time I got them fully open before shutting them tight against the light. It hurt! But, I got over it and opened them again.

Everything blurred into itself still. So, I blinked to focus my vision and saw four people around my bed: Dumbledore, Madame Marche, Black, who held the iPhone in his right hand, and Riddle, whose face held no expression, not on the top layer anyway.

"Take as long as you need, Tom," Dumbledore told him most kindly and Riddle nodded as the others began to slink off toward the far end of the Wing. Black, before stepping away, handed him the phone and knocked his knuckles into his lightly at their sides, a sign of support.

_This can't be good…. _I waited for him to say something, taking note from my peripheral of how his thumb ran back and forth over the edge of the phone with the volume buttons on it, almost nervously. For a few minutes he said nothing and I just stared for a bit before sitting up and folding my legs up to allow him a space to sit, like I'd done on Christmas Eve.

He took the invite and walked around from the foot of the bed to sit there, closer to me than to the foot but not quite as close as I wanted him.

Quite frankly, I wanted him on me, holding me tight, squeezing me to death almost – squeezing all this achiness out of me, all this pain. But I knew better. He'd seen and heard so much today, _done_ so much. How could I want more from him now? How could I not feel more thankful than I already did that he still had enough in him left to even sit this close to me let alone stand in the same room as me, without a look of disgust etched onto his beautiful face? How?

"There're so many things that I have to ask you and that you don't necessarily need to answer because, in all honesty, they are yours to know and no one else's," he began, evenly, eyes down on the phone, whose screen still held the picture of the little boy. "But a few, at least by proxy, are mine to know as well, I think." I nodded. He'd meant the boy looking up at him with his own eyes. He nodded too and then looked up at me, a weak smile tugging at his lips. "Unfortunately," he said with an odd tone coloring his voice, a strained one that I'd never heard before. "I haven't the time, the patience, the decency or the will to ask them." Ice. Ice. Pure ice. His voice hardened and cooled and those words came out coated in the iciness he spewed with each breath and even from his eyes, red entirely. Pure crimson. Crimson ice.

I furrowed my brow, but felt the familiar tug in my gut that told me I knew this would happen. I reeled inside. "Tom…"

He tossed the phone into the space between my folded legs, patted my knee and kept his hand there a second, his eyes boring into mine. "I can sit here for weeks and months, telling you about how I've seen bits and pieces of my ruined life in your mind – how I hate you for that. I could tell you how despicable you are and what a waste of time you've been for me – ever since I saw that Time Turner around your neck the time you fainted and ever since I decided it might be worth the time to figure out what the odd little Spaniard had hidden up her sleeve. I could regale you with counts I've told my Knights about manipulating you with subtleties and kisses – just like with the rest of these whores in this school. How easy it's been." He paused, savoring the small twitches of the muscles in my jaw and the excessive blinking of my eyes to push back the oncoming moisture. Then he continued, sliding closer and taking my left hand between both of his. "But it would take too much time to do this as so much more has weaved into this story of only a few months, Thalia. Too much time would be required to speak of the things I've picked up from you – the things that I was never supposed to know…. And that is time that I do not have." He stood from the bed, my hand still in his, and gave me another weak smile. "I'm leaving you now. This is my goodbye." He brought my hand to his lips and kept it there a moment before smiling into it. "Funny," he murmured softly lowering our hands.

"What is?" I asked and then I didn't need to know anymore. I'd heard it in my cracked voice. Then I felt it drip from my chin onto my other hand. I scoffed and wiped furiously at my face and eyes with my free hand. The one time I cry in front of him in this circuit – the one time my weakness actually shows in front of him like this…and he leaves. "I'll see you around," I said softly to him, sniffling a bit.

"You won't." He laid my hand gently onto my knee and turned to walk away.

"_What_?"

He didn't turn fully, just his head, but did answer this: "Dumbledore already knew, but couldn't say anything because it was a result of Time Travel that gave him that information. Madame Marche, however, heard it straight from your brother that I'm the Heir of Slytherin. I'm going to Azkaban, Thalia."

"_WHAT_?" I lunged forward onto my knees to meet him at the foot of the bed where he turned toward the door. But I reached out and grabbed his deep green jumper. He jerked a bit as he stopped but peeled my tightly gripped fingers from his sweater and laced them with his.

"Don't," he ordered sternly. But he smiled as I settled onto my heels. "You can do without me –"

"– for fuck's sake, Riddle –"

"– and you'll be fine. You can go back to your time once this circuit ends and _choose_ your Death –"

"– Riddle, I –"

"Your family will be fine and so will the world –"

"– God damn it! _I love you_!" I shouted at him, gripping his fingers tight to my chest and pulling him close to me.

He finally shut up. But instead of spazzing out or laughing like I kind of expected him to, now that I'd heard myself and considered the situation, he smiled so warmly at me, the crimson shining the brightest I'd ever seen in his eyes. He leaned in, barely brushing his lips against mine for the tiniest fraction of a second, and then pulled back, saying, "And if I knew how to love, it would be you…."

Slipping his fingers out of mine without hesitation or struggle, he let my hand fall onto my sloped thighs and walked gracefully, elegantly – head held high and shoulders squared so bravely (like Emily had called him on my first day of classes here – _so brave_) – out of the Hospital Wing to some men by the door…out of my life….

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><p>Brujeria* - witchcraft<p> 


	20. Humanity Died Along the Broken Path

**A/N:** Guys, ... we're so close. But, yeah, I know I was late. Sorry! lol I actually started writing another fic for the Outsiders fandom and well, I was writing this chapter and that one at the same time. So, I got a bit delayed. Sue me! lol jk, loves. I love you guys, you know that. Thanks to you all for the reviews and adds and favs, etc etc. **mspstart97, Dustfinger's cheering section, Chamilia Lutien Tinuviel, and FadedSunset**, you're all awesome! Thanks for the time you took to review!

**mspstar97:** no worries at all I totally understand lol I would be the same way. Check this chapter out. I think you'll like the end despite the ubber confusion muajajajaja!

**FadedSunset: **hell yeah. When in doubt, blame Dumbly lol. And yeah, pay close attention to that iPhone. It's so crucial to what's coming - dun dun dun! lol

Ugh, what can I say about this chapter? It's confusing on purpose. And no it won't get better. But that's where the beauty lies, isn't it? Think of this as you read, please: what would you do in her situation? In Riddle's? Is coldness even appropriate anymore? Can Love truly conquer all?

Enjoy, loves! Oh and ya know what to do =)

**P.S. Remember when Thalia was born? =)**

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><p><em><strong>Time Will Tell<strong>_

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Nineteen: _Humanity Died Along the Broken Path_**

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><p><em>"Failure is blindness to the strategic element in events; success is readiness for instant action when the opportune moment arrives." – Newell D. Hillis<em>

* * *

><p>The sunlight mocked me, still finding its way in through the high, arching windows and onto the wall opposite mine despite what my forced yet feeble memorization of the daily routine indicated as the late hour. Sunset, always a peaceful time that had allowed for me to converge and heal all the wounds the grievances of a long day would leave behind, had turned on me and now represented what I could positively deem the worst moment of my life. I now, and for the rest of my life – because a scar like this wound will leave never really disappears – will always associate the pink, orangey and misty hue of the sky at this time of day with the moment the one thing in this entire world that actually meant I had something to hope for had slipped right through my fingers. I will always remember the feel of that boy's lips brushing mine and the faint <em>pop<em> that meant the last thread holding us together had either snapped or suffered a slice.

I would say both, you know, considering all the shit I saw that day and all that I know deep, deep inside despite my inability to remember it properly. But who would believe a madwoman who can't even remember the name of the boy she loves, the one person that mattered and the only one who visits her dreams?

"Thalia?" Only his voice had managed this feat. Reaching me, I mean. For I know Madame Marche, Dumbledore and even one of the aurors had tried to scream at me through my new veil of deafness as I slid from the bed that day, but nothing they said penetrated the wall I'd brought up around myself. I'd tried to run for that boy – the Dark looking one I keep seeing when I close my eyes. I could have made it to him had something in me not blocked the flow of superior magic that I sometimes still feel an echo of and inhibited me from absorbing the stunners or from stopping them at least. But shock and panic had taken over me by then and as the two aurors' cloaks whipped out of sight, taking the boy with them, I could only watch them and then feel the stunners hit me. Now, hours, days, months perhaps years later – I truly have no idea when I wake up (I depend on him to tell me, to remind me) – I only ever hear him.

"Lucas," I whispered hoarsely in response from my catatonically twisted position on the bed. With the ghost of what I remembered as relief or perhaps a form of happiness trying to swell inside me (but quickly quelled by the ever burning and constantly rolling ball of ire), I tried to untangle my toes first. Really, how tangled can they have possibly gotten since his last visit, which routine imprinting tells me had only occurred that morning? I'd like to think 'not very tangled', but they feel so tight and knotted that, for a moment, I forgot my therapeutic mantra of "not weeks, just a day; not days, just an hour or two" and thought that I'd lain this way for days.

"Try to stretch a bit. Just try and I'll work the stiffness out," he whispered comfortingly to me.

No one else talks to me the way he does either. I know because, even though I can't hear the others, I can still see the looks on their faces and they just tell me how frustrated I make them. Good. They caused this – I remember that much. Them and their overdone stunners.

Considering a piece that remains inside of me that would have smiled at his tone, I tried to smile. But in vain. I've forgotten how. So, instead, I watched with foggy and unclear interest as Black's quick and long fingers work the knots out of my toes. And then out of my legs. My knees felt especially painful, but nowhere near as bad as my back or my arms. My neck probably looked even worse than it felt, but he managed it anyway and by the time he finished and had me somewhat comfortably lain on the hospital bed, I looked up at him, trying to express what I remembered as gratitude.

No words come, much less even the tiniest movement – a reach for his hand, a turning over of my own to show that I want his touch – but he understood. "Riddle will love how flexible you've become in his absence," he murmured with a small smile as he slid further onto the bed next to me and took my hand in his. "Good fun for the both of you, I imagine." He laughed at his own dirty joke and stroked his thumb over the back of my hand much like I remembered that boy – very similar to Black but Darker – doing. He didn't seem to mind, again, that I didn't laugh. Then again, he hasn't for a whole.

"Tell me about him again?" I asked him, pleadingly of course, because I've lost mostly all sense of consideration for others in this state that I've slipped into. I know it causes him pain to remember his friend (the fact that I use that word to describe him seems to always resonate within me for a reason that dances on the fringes of my mind, forever unreachable) and sometimes I try to not ask. But most days – well, most _visits_, really, I ask.

You see, this boy I remember, this boy I love and have lost – Riddle, as Black calls him – I know, feel fully _aware_ that I love him and I know I remember him for a reason. I almost have that reason in my grasp sometimes – I almost remember how I got into this blur of days and months and Black. I almost understand why my body seems to tingle and why I keep feeling that kiss. But then, when Black leaves and I have to close my eyes again because I can't keep them open any more, I fall back into the world where he still exists here with me, this boy – Riddle – and I want to stay there. But the cruel-faced man with the long beard and the scythe and the half-moon spectacles shows up. And he rips me from my Dark boy and my safe world where I can almost remember him and where I can feel the stronger echoes of my true magic. He rips me from there and then I have to start again, trying to remember and trying to understand.

It has gotten a bit better, I guess. I can remember that the boy who visits me several times in what he and the others have defined as a day (and what feels like weeks for me) and Black and Lucas are all one in the same. I can also remember the others' faces and names – Dumbledore, Madame Marche, Dippet and even the figure of the boy at the end of the Wing, David. I've also started remembering bits and pieces of that day when I tried to run after my Dark boy, Riddle, and even feel the dull and distant echo of my true magic through the tingling when I feel particularly reminiscent. But the cruel-faced, scythe-holding and half-moon spectacle wearing man with the long beard still won't go away or even ease up on the way he wakes me from my dreams.

"I think you remember a lot about him and don't really need me to tell you," he said with a small but tight smile. I want to smile back in the same manner – I _do_ remember a lot of what he's told me. The intelligence and sheer genius. The great store of magic within him that could probably match the low hum Black says he feels coming from me sometimes. The revolutionary mentality and idealism that he wishes to share with the wizarding world in order to bring it to its proper standing. I remember how the boy I dream of, according to Black, chose me out of so many others to publicly have a relationship with. I remember how Black couldn't seem to answer why that seemed worth mentioning. Don't most people have their relationships publicly?

"Why did they take him away from me if I love him so much? Where is he?"

"In Azkaban, do you remember it?" I nodded. He continued, "They took him because…someone close to you wanted you two to not be together anymore."

"I love him."

"Very much, I know. It's quite obvious."

"Really?'

"Desperately."

I stayed quiet for a bit, pondering and trying to remember. I thought of the handful of things I remembered about the Dark boy. His god-like appearance that always reemerges from the muddled depths of my mind – black eyes, semi-wavy locks of black hair, a strong jaw and straight nose as well as broad shoulders and tall stature – seemed like mere sprinkles on the cone of ice cream. Mostly his intelligence called out to me – what Black would tell me about his grades and constant excellence in each of the subjects that I knew from conversations with Black presented as none too simple to learn. Riddle's beautiful mind had no trouble with that and would often work out the kinks in his own views so as to perfect them for the rest of the wizarding world. Sure. I love a genius. But…

"Does he love me?"

As Black swallowed, I relived the moment and the kiss that the Dark boy had given me that day before leaving, again. The softness, somehow, still lingered and tried desperately to echo the words that I know had come after that. But, as my question reflects, though my own words and the softness of the kiss linger, they cannot bring back his words. So I always ask, at this point in the obviously painful conversation, something that connects with the lingering softness for me on so many levels (so as to reach what is, ultimately, what I want to ask) or I simply ask straight up if he loves me. I feel like I already know the answer, for why else would the softness linger? But, something always nags me to ask. Perhaps this time, the bell won't ring and force Black to leave before he can answer.

"I think, if he had the slightest idea of what that even entailed, ten times over and around he'd have bent over backward to prove just how much he does. But he doesn't. So he can't."

I didn't know what to make of that. "You avoided the question."

"You're grasping more than you let on," he chided with a small smirk, but nodded and added: "It just means that, personally, I think he does. I just know he won't say it. He can't. He doesn't know he does."

I fell back into thought, here, and let him do the same.

"I've got a surprise for you, Thalia," he uttered softly after a bit of silence, letting go of my hand for just a few seconds to pull a long, thin and nearly flat box wrapped in silver paper out of his pocket. "Can you sit up?" He didn't wait for a response, though. He just stood, laying the box at my feet and moved to help me shift myself into a seated position. This took a few minutes, but once he felt he'd gotten me as comfortable as he could, he sat back down and retook the box only to hold it out to me and say, "Happy sixteenth, Thali. I know he'll probably murder me in my sleep for this," he laughed nervously as I sat, completely motionless, and then laid the box down between my curled hands in my lap, "but you just need a little shove. I _know_ this will work." He finished off with a genuinely happy smile that had only the tiniest shadow of what I'd deemed the Scar of the Knight in it (a shadow of sadness underneath thick layers of indifference and besmeared with the invisible blood of the dead hope he held. I remember the Dark boy gave me the same kind of smile once).

The Scar, more than the smile itself, made me move to take the box in my hands. Fumbling for a bit with the mediocre wrapping, I got it off and revealed the green satin of the outside of the box and the silver snap-lock on one side. I tried to furrow my brow to express the whispered question that arose in me, but even those expressions had died away. I did manage a twitch though, I think, because Black slid closer and helped me with the latch, saying, "It has to work. It will."

He got it open and right there, right on the black velvet, cushioned lining of the box, snapped in two just like the first of a thousand, a million, and a billion images reminded me of its fate, lay Riddle's old wand. Snapped in two, one piece in front of the other in a two item line inside the long, thin, flat, satin covered and velvet lined box, Riddle's old wand handed me over to the surge of adrenaline and shock that swept me into a furiously spinning spiral leading straight to Hell, judging by the head-splitting pain that immediately blossomed in the back of my skull and the images that came with it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom<em>**

I'd lost track of time probably two or three weeks after coming here. The screams of the other prisoners only ever blended with the cries of the little ones anymore. You see, they seemed to have found me here despite the long years since their adoptions and the many miles separating us across land, sea and air. I think I scream too sometimes. I don't really know. I can't tell my own voice from those around me anymore. Every time I say something (or think I am, anyway), I only hear the words in my head grow loud and distorted despite my weakened vocal cords and eventually I forget I'd meant to say anything at all.

It feels strange, to say the least, and quite painful. Yes, it hurts. Okay? It hurts and very much. But only because it all hits you at once – the screaming, the lashes across the face, the images of young children peering around doors that a visiting clergyman or doctor or psychiatrist or even just a 'well-meaning matron' close ever so slowly to lock them in and everyone else out of their disgusting business. The sounds of their whimpers and of mine and the knowledge that the door across the hall – that _my_ door – just needs a good kick if not a turn of the knob to end the little one's suffering – my own suffering – run amok with the vicious image of the fresh faced girl, who despite her claim of Love still just stands there as the boy she'd probably meant to stand with speaks those searing words that have echoed within me even louder than the other sounds since I came here: someone_ would have wanted me_. Now, I only see her. But the screaming, the sounds of my childhood (if you could call it that), and even the abhorrent sensations in those abused areas of my body persist alongside her. I know it will never stop and I've quit counting the days left until my sentence ends because I'll never know freedom again...

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><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

"Fuck me backward and upside down on a broom – my _God_ that _hurt_!" I complained heaving myself onto my elbows and pushing backward so as to release my legs from the contorted mess I'd made of my body. "Fucking shit, man. How the hell…. Black?" I waited for a response, my head hanging uselessly between my propped up arms and shoulders, as I tried to free at least one of my legs. But none came and I worried. "Black?" my voice held a softened inflection to it, but muffled against my shoulder as I turned my head toward where I remembered him sitting on the bed. And then it morphed into a gasp-scream thing as I watched the recklessly handsome, gray-eyed and sometimes wonderfully mindless boy hurl himself at me from his side of the bed.

Two somewhat loud _thudsmack_s and an extremely loud _CLANG_ later we found ourselves very tightly embraced on the floor of the Wing. Very. Tightly. Embraced. I couldn't even breathe until he had the sense to pull us up into a seated position.

"Fucking madwoman. Absolutely mad. Never again, d'you hear me? _Never_. Again." He murmured softly but most angrily into my ear and although I nodded and wanted to answer him that I promise to never again put him through this – as well as smack him silly for knocking me off of the bed, really, because now my whole body ached even more – I couldn't speak. The tightness of my throat wouldn't allow for it and the more I tried, the tighter it got until finally I shoved out a choked sound that broke us both.

I don't need details for the next few minutes. I just need you to understand that the rest of February, all of March and most of April had proved extremely rough on the both of us. Madness. Pure madness on my part and only kindness and understanding on his. Days, weeks and months I'd spent in a world unrecognizable to me, plagued by dreams of a boy I loved that would turn into nightmares of a cruel-faced man with a scythe and half-moon specs, unable to remember how I'd even gotten there. Days, weeks and months Black had sat there with me at every chance he got and repeated things to me about the boy I kept dreaming of, about the world I'd come from – the one he told me I knew very well – and about how I'd gotten into that state, quelling my fears. He had no idea who I meant when I would tell him about the man with scythe and spectacles, but even that he would quash with a smile and a mocking, "You afraid of the dark, Thalia?" No, I don't need details of how these last few months' worth of pain, disorientation and unfiltered fear converted themselves into unadulterated relief and release. I just felt happy that it finally did.

"I'm so –"

"– shut it, Spain." I scoffed and felt his fingers curl into my hair very tightly before his own soft lips found their way onto my cheek repeatedly. "Just…just shut up a minute," he commanded and I obeyed, relaxing into his embrace.

And then the moment ended. "Right bleeding racket you're making today, Bla – she's awake?"

"She's _always_ been awake," spat Black at Madame Marche who marched her chubby frame over to us and, after lifting the bedpan that had fallen off of the floor, yanked us up to our feet.

Where had her gentle demeanor gone? I asked myself this as her next words spilled like putrid diarrhea from her suddenly foul mouth: "Pissing mad, she was. Refusing every damned bit of food and drink. Screaming bloody murder in the nights. What did you do to her, Black? Is she even coherent?" She peered obnoxiously into my face, checking for signs of madness, I suppose, and then backed up a bit when I jerked away from her. "Lucid, finally. Well, I'll be. Miracle, this here. After that bullet to the head, I'd have thought her a goner."

_What_? I almost echoed my own question, incredulous expression and all, when Black nodded fervently and said, "Me too, Madame Marche. But she's well again. Thank Merlin."

She nodded stiffly, sniffing loudly and snottily. "Thank Merlin, indeed." With that, she turned on her heel, stepped awkwardly, ungracefully – even for her – back to her quarters and only spoke to say, "Let Dumbledore know she's okay and that she can go back to class tomorrow morning if she'd like…if she can _handle_ it," before she closed the door behind her.

Black released a breath of something akin to relief but turned to me with a very urgent look etched onto his somewhat gaunter features. _Did he really look like this all this time?_ "It felt like your mind just ripped open, didn't it?" he asked.

"Little bit. Um, what did she –"

"– look I'll explain it later. Right now, just get yourself under cover and grab some clothes from your room – if you need them, we can always get some on the way – and meet me in the entrance hall in fifteen minutes." His tone, rushed and a tiny bit panicky, sent me into a fit that felt a lot like what I felt the day this all started in the Ministry of Magic with Dad and I could only nod as he urgently squeezed my arms and then set off at a run toward the Wing door. "Fifteen minutes. Hurry."

Since I don't _really_ need clothes (someone had had the decency to at least change me out of the blood-spattered clothes from that day and I guess they did the same every few days as well so that I now donned a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, some socks and a thermal top)…I guess I should at least try to clear up what the fuck just happened to me, shouldn't I? Yeah…. I really don't know. I mean, okay, look. I spazzed the fuck out. I totally lost it when they took Riddle away. The stunners didn't help either – especially not Dumbledore's. And I can now remember that, more than once, they had felt the need to stun me again and again – '_to keep me sedated_', of course. But, shit, man. I really…I just…I mean, how the fuck Black even held on to hope for that long and with me in that condition…I have no idea. Bloody saint, that boy. But still, what the fuck? How had he known to use Riddle's old wand pieces to bring me back to awareness – _sanity_? Well, I can venture a guess if I think about the way he'd looked at me when he spoke of Riddle – the way his eyes seemed to adopt a sort softened glimmer and a sharpened glint beneath that of a hidden rage when I would ask why they took him from me. But to explain properly about how he knew it would work…?

Look, I'm so sorry, okay? I know I haven't said anything that can really clarify things for you. I know I just probably confused you more. But, understand what I went through just now too, okay? You try going mad for months and then getting yanked into sanity by a fucking broken wand and see how well you can explain that shit.

From what I can remember, things happened like this: Riddle got taken to Azkaban and I tried to go after him; Dumbledore and Madame Marche stunned me – very forcefully – and _that_ combined with the idea that Riddle was gone from my life, the fact that I had killed my brother and he had killed Emily, that Eliot hated me for that, and that my other half had forcibly reconnected with me as well as a number of other things that I just didn't have the time to even consider then…well, it drove me mad. It broke me. My mind completely shattered and melted and the goop that remained solidified in an unrecognizable form within my skull that didn't allow the proper synapses to form and accept information so that pieces could fit together, so that things could come to the forefront when remembered…so that I could remember the name of the boy who visited my dreams…. And I spent months this way – sometimes remembering a tiny shred of that day here and there, sometimes reaching and almost grasping how I'd gotten to that point. But then the man with the scythe and specs would come and take that away….

He represents Chronos and Dumbledore, I suppose. It fits, doesn't it? They caused this – it seems fitting that I should name them the owners of my nightmares. That I should combine both monsters into one. Because, in the end, what else could I call them? I may not understand what happened to me fully – why Madame Marche thinks I got shot in the head or why she has changed so much – and because of that I can't give you a proper explanation of what this situation has morphed into. But I know one thing, thanks to my nightmares, my instincts, my recovered memories, and my mutilated life flashing repeatedly in the back of my mind through my own panic: Dumbledore and Father Time are monsters…they did this. They sent Riddle to Azkaban at sixteen. They killed my brother and they killed Emily – sweet Emily, who only wanted to help – by bringing Jorge here. _They_ killed those two aurors and that man in the pub. They turned Eliot against me. They shoved me into madness…. They should pay for this….

I don't know why I did it (maybe I'm just that stupid or I'm just that much of a masochist), but as that thought crossed my mind – about them paying for all those unnecessary deaths and that unwarranted hatred – I turned on the spot so as to find their bodies. Emily's. Jorge's. But, no. Months had passed. A corpse would have rotted and stunk up the place. Let alone two – one of them partially cooked…. Emily.

_Don't you dare. She knew better…. Did she? I always told her to fight – to be independent – and she shouldn't have done that. Not that time – she didn't need to…. You did and she did. Don't take that away from her, you…. What do you mean? …She died trying to help you, trying to take down the man hurting you…She might have felt an incredible amount of pain – you saw her body – but she died proud. Don't take that from her…. You're sick. She's dead. What pride is left in that? …I'm not going to argue about this with you…._

And she didn't, the Realist. But I wished, once the silence of the ward hit me again, that she would. I wished she'd say something to keep me from thinking. To keep me from _feeling_. So fucking empty, man, this place. Yeah, the Petrified boy still lay at the end of the ward, his curtains pulled around his bed. But what company did he make for me in my lament? What comfort could I seek in him – an empty fucking shell – when my friend…really, my _best_ friend lay in the ground somewhere or perhaps flew in the wind with dirty pieces of paper, leaves and dust, dead? When I never got to say goodbye? When my brother...God, I couldn't even bring myself to imagine what they would have done to him…. A traitor to both sides (he failed his mission to kill me but he also didn't even try to help me), I assumed his body would end up somewhere foul – a loathsome place where goodbyes don't exist….

But I would never look for it. I'd need my faculties about me in less than ten minutes and searching for him would only hurt me and send me back to the place from where I'd just escaped. No. I would just have to let him make do with his final resting place, no matter how horrid, and I…well, I still have my prayers, don't I?

_Do you? …I do…. Right. You spend your entire life praying to some deity that you're not even sure exists and _faithfully_, too…and what does _He_ do for you? Tell me, has He yet to answer your prayers? Because you've prayed for a lot, haven't you? For Jorge and Dad to be okay…and now look.… There are other more important things than my own troubles…. Fucking classic religious babble. It's okay, though. Keep praying. Maybe He'll answer you soon…. What the fuck is your problem? Since when is faith an issue for you? _And, as I asked this of the Realist, I remembered something my other half had said, more than once:

_"God's not here, love."_

She'd said it with such offhandedness amid so much other, more urgently pressing matters, that I had hardly heard her in the moment. But now it echoed, reverberating scornfully in my skull, bouncing back at me with sneering derision. And, please, don't get me wrong: this isn't some Christian or Catholic or any kind of religious type of speech…. I just know that, personally, I've always believed in something – mainly God – and I've always tried to hold true to that at its purest form and the Realist had never tried to dispute me...until now. And I guess, if I pushed past the panic surging through me, the anger at my own brand of self-contradiction, I understood perfectly where this had come from. At least for the moment. _You're more a part of her than you are part of me, aren't you? …Look, I don't want to have a battle of the faiths here. I just need to keep us alive…. Fine…. Fine…._

Shutting out all thoughts of prayer, of faith, of reconnections that might have spurred the sparking of massive oceans of ancient anger and grief against any and all deities, I turned back around toward the door and walked quickly. Then I stopped, patting down my legs, my arms, my torso…. "What the _fuck_, dude?" I ran back to the bed I'd lain on for months – the one where Jorge had lain and where (when I was still two people instead of one) I killed him – and started sifting frantically through the still warm and ruffled sheets. But, of course, who would leave that there, knowing that – eventually – I'd come back to myself…and remember? "Decrepit bastard," I hissed under my breath, elongating the final 'r' sound into an eerie guttural hiss that I think tried to form a word in and of itself. But, in my anger and renewed panic, I didn't quite catch it.

Standing up straight, arms crossed moodily over my ribs, I glared at the room in general. Where could he have hidden it? Where would the man with the twinkly-eyed, seemingly harmless smile have hidden my wand so as to make sure that, when I finally caught up, I would not find it? As I pondered this, one of my hands, of its own instinctual accord, freed itself from the tight knot I'd twisted it into over my ribs and reached up to touch the protruding lump over my chest. With that tiny movement, another thought occurred to me. A scary one.

I yanked the Time Turner out from underneath my shirt and held it to the fading light to see properly despite its ever-glittering sand's luminescence. "Fuck," I cursed, confirming my disturbing theory with one look and then shoving the tiny glass back under my shirt. Less than a quarter of the sand remained in the top half – probably just enough for another couple of months or so, depending on whether the sand really did flow faster now or if I'd just imagined it did in my panic. "Fuck," I repeated and started to pace. Eight minutes. I had eight minutes to meet Black and I still had no idea what the fuck had really happened after my lapse into La La-Land, where to find my wand or what to make of my newest theory panning out right before my eyes.

_Well, Black said he would explain everything. So, I would take that – even if it's just with a grain of salt – as a sign to just drop the questions about what happened for now. As for your theory, well, talk it out with him and see what can be done about it later – if he understands it. For now, your wand. Go get it. Fast. Without that…well, you know…. But do I really need it?_

I'd only just then, amid the Realist's speedy recap, thought of it. But in all reality, I'd felt it since – well, since that day, but even more so now when I came to myself here. When I could consciously acknowledge that the tingling I'd felt across my body in my madness had intensified and now consisted of a more rushed, more urgent flowing of energy through my every vein, artery and capillary. It begged for released with each beat of my heart yet quelled itself once it found purchase in a new corner of my entire form. An unexplored, untested, corner where its purity and urgent existence could pulse freely and rage wildly, happily within me. It, quite honestly, freed me.

_Yes, you need it – even if you have this new power in you – this new, truer magic – you still need that wand. You are still new to this and until you figure out how to control it, you need to rely on the baser magic…. But how much harder can it be than controlling Time? I'm a Traveler – it's only logical that the next step be, well, _this_…. Yes, but there are so many things wrong with that sentence that I don't even want to start on it now…. Come on! You're always going on about how you're just another part of me. So, go one, Other Part of Me, go ahead and explain what I already know…. _Not NOW! _Just go and find it…. Ugh. Fine. Where? …Where the fuck else?_

Right. Where the fuck else? I did an about face right into a full tilt sprint toward the door and slipped out of the ward. Carefully hidden behind suits of armor, statues, old mirrors and inside old closets, ever so quietly, and painfully slowly, I edged, tip-toed and practically slithered my way to the Headmaster's office before remembering – fuck my life because I kept forgetting this shit – that Dumbledore had not taken on the position of Headmaster yet, again. So, annoyed and somewhat amused at how easily I kept forgetting that bit, I went down one floor, still very careful to not attract attention or make too much noise, and reached the Transfigurations professor's door. Three minutes. Well, two minutes and forty-seven seconds, but who'd counted, really?

I took a step toward the door and had even reached for the doorknob when I froze, wanting to kick myself for such stupidity. Wards. How could I put it past this – this – this _thing_ to not have wards on his office? Especially now that, even though word had not yet spread of my reanimation, he'd still pose a very wary threat to me without my wand. He'd expect me, wouldn't he, to come looking for it? So, careful as to not let myself slip out of sheer jittery nerves, I stepped back and eyed the door for a few seconds. Two minutes and twenty-five seconds. I would have to first make sure of _which_ wards he'd erected around his office so as to even _attempt_ to disarm them. Two and fifteen. But most wards required wand-magic to even begin to try to detect them. Two and ten. _Fuck it_, I thought and removed one of my socks, readying my aim and then bending to remove the other sock, imagining myself running around with just one sock. I wanted to _break_ the image of the madwoman, not _add_ to it. Two and three. I threw the balled up pair of socks at the door and waited with bated breath for the surely loud and singeing reaction of pure cotton coming into contact with an extremely powerful ward.

Nothing. The socks hit the door quite pathetically and then fell to the floor, no more damaged than if I'd worn them for three days straight, which I probably had.

Cocking an eyebrow and already counting backward from two minutes, I threw all remaining caution to the wind and flung myself forward into the door, shutting my eyes against any potential pain. But I only felt the pain of my bones colliding with the floor with a muffled _thud_ in Dumbledore's office. I didn't even hit the fucking door because the man with the magenta colored and silver moon-speckled robes had opened it right as I'd meant to slam into it.

"Ah. Lovely to know you're with us again, Miss Espinoza," he said kindly, warmly, and ever so sweetly. It made me want to vomit.

"Fuck off, old man. Where is it?" I demanded, rolling over and pushing onto my knees.

"Where is what, might I ask?"

Shoving myself off of the floor and squaring my shoulders like I remember Riddle had done as he walked toward the aurors arresting him, I stepped right up to the aged wizard. "I'm gonna ask you one more time, Dumbledore, and you'd better answer or –"

"– or you'll kill me, young Thalia?" He laughed a soft chuckle and walked over to his cluttered desk as I scowled deeply at him. "There are much, much worse things, dearest Thalia, than Death," he said, opening a drawer near the top of his desk.

As the words fell from his lips – words that he'd once told me, in this circuit, that I'd said to him in another (or insinuated that I'd said to him, anyway), I realized with no more than a somewhat relieved albeit obviously betrayed sense of absolution that he'd lied to me from the very beginning. He'd known from the start what I'd fallen into: a trap laid by both him and Father Time to force me back into my old mindset of wanting to rid the world of Riddle. He'd failed to tell me not to kill Riddle this time, but had also emphasized the love aspect of the whole thing with the utmost discretion – dropping tiny hints here and there ("_This old man, obviously, still has much to learn – or to remember – from those very young hearts."_). Now that I looked back on those moments in the Hospital Wing when I first got here and he'd consoled me, I saw with different eyes what he did – the kind smiles that now reflected the one he just gave me at the door – what he said about the things that I'd come to stop already fated to happen – _fated_, his inability to give me any real information that might help me…. All of it, every move and every word, stood as a piece in a convoluted and twisted scheme to make me think the way I had in the first circuit. To force me back into the mindset where I viewed Riddle's death as a saving grace for all of wizard- and even Muggle-kind. But, and oh so clever of them to account for the tremendous power of memories and the dilapidated structure of a sabotaged circuit (Father Time's ingenuity turned against him there because in the end I still got back my memory of what happened at the end of the last circuit and I still know what he did to me), they knew my memories would return to me. They knew this and knew that when they did return, I'd turn against Dumbledore and embrace the feelings growing within me for Riddle. And so, they had a follow-up plan – a plan to destroy what they'd purposely built inside me: Jorge. Jorge, my poor, deranged and depressed brother from 2012 and his dead family. They used him…. They used him like some pawn in a chess game: meant for naught more than to kill his own sister in a supposed scheme for revenge. And I'd bet any money and even my _soul_ that, in 2012 when his family had died (had been taken away from him, like he said), _those two fuckers_ had everything to do with that and made sure I caught the blame for it.

And for what, really? Because I still came back to reality. I still came here looking for my wand – intending to pry it from Dumbledore's cold dead fingers if I had to – and I still would find a way to fix what they'd done, no matter what. Because now I could. Because, now, only _that_ remained: to fix what we'd all fucked up...

So, smirking, I nodded and answered, "Indeed, there are. But for now, I believe that your death is of best convenience to me and of worst to Chronos."

He smiled and nodded. "Which is why I will follow his instructions and return your wand."

_It's a bluff_, warned the Realist as my stomach dropped to my feet at his words. Instructions? Did he know me so well, the second monster dwelling in the true Hall of Time, that he wished to face me sooner because of how prepared he felt in anticipation of my actions? _It's a bloody bluff. You have like thirty seconds to get to Black! _GO!

I lunged forward, grabbing the wand before he'd even gotten it fully out of the drawer and then bolted out the door and toward the other end of the corridor where I turned left end descended, jumping and hopping, the remaining staircases. Once on the first floor, I booked it toward the marble staircase corridor and then descended the cold stone steps, startling a group of first years as I jumped the last few steps, and hurtled myself through the doors to the Great Hall. Very few people dotted the Hall, given the dinnertime hour, but I found this not to my chagrin and skidded, practically tripping over my near frozen toes, toward the entrance hall. I had my hand on the bloody door when a heavy hand fell onto my shoulder and yanked me backward and around. Five….

"Eliot," I whispered, locking eyes with the paler, thinner and more sullen version of the boy I remembered. Four.

"Still alive?" he spat. Three.

My breath hitched in my chest for a split second, wanting to release a river of foul things I could say and would say to anyone else. But I held it in, despite the pain it caused me. Two.

The door I'd had my hand on groaned softly as someone opened it slowly behind me and I heard a frustrated sigh before Black spoke, "For the love of – fine, Erickson. Have it your way." One. "_Avada_ _Kedavra_!"

_Thudsmack_.

"Let's go, Spain."

I wish I could tell you what happened after that – in the Hall, I mean. I wish I knew how people reacted: whether surprised, shocked and scared; or perhaps angry, vengeful and bloodthirsty. I wish I knew if they'd even seen who'd done this to Eliot, if they'd seen his murderer's face – because Black had _murdered_ him. I wish I knew but I don't because, before Eliot's head even lolled to the side, Black had yanked me through the door, to his side and shut the door behind him, casting a powerful sealing charm on it.

"I'm sorry," he stated, every trace of the scant amount of sincerity in voice completely audible.

Only when I tried to respond to him did I realize that I couldn't. My throat had dried instantly and my mouth had turned to blood-soaked cotton, inhibiting me from even moving my tongue for fear of ripping it. I tasted copper and I stared at him, trying to remember when I'd bitten my tongue or my cheek. All for the best, I suppose. What would I say to him, anyway?

He gave a ghost of a grimace and then moved on. "Alright look, what can you remember about that day – after they took Riddle, I mean?" He took my silence (I still tasted so much copper) as a simple 'nothing' and nodded, continuing: "Right. Look, after they stunned you – well, actually this started when you passed out after reconnecting with your other half." He started digging in his pockets, transferring a slightly clinking bag to his left hand, and then pulled out the iPhone thing before continuing. "Dumbledore moved about as fast as we did – Riddle and I – and right away put Madame Marche under the Imperius while we got you onto the bed and took this," he held up the phone and pushed the home button to bring it to life, "before he could see us. I think he knows, but hasn't said anything. But it's best to not wait." I nodded, finally able to contribute something to this. "Anyway, Emily's dad, the Minister, showed up, raising Hell about her – understandable, of course – but Dumbledore already had his story rehearsed."

I almost stepped back at the darkened tone he adopted now and the dangerous glint that appeared in his eyes. In fact, if not for the fact that I _knew_ I could trust him after so much time in the Wing with him, I would have booked it out of the castle the second Eliot's eyes went blank. But I stayed, and listened intently to his version of how Dumbledore and Chronos had managed to further fuck up my life and Riddle's.

"He told the Minister what they'd all thought was the truth in the pub: that Jorge, because of the mark he wore, was part of Grindelwald's army and that he'd attacked you for treason against the army; Emily just got in the way at the wrong time and he took her out." I swallowed hard but he kept going as if his words didn't hurt at all. "We came back here, with the aurors, to arrest him and maybe even you, depending on what you told us after the Veritaserum they wanted to use on you." He cocked his head to one side slightly and smirked. "And here, the lies start. He told him that you, when you woke up, shouted something about cutting ties with the past and that you wanted nothing to do with him – see, your brother was awake the whole time in Dumbledore's version – and that the aurors were slaughtered when he went into a rage. He played up how dangerous your brother is, basically. Wandless magic and brutality and such." I felt my cheek twitch a bit but said nothing. "Then he played up yours and Riddle's dangerousness. Mostly yours, though. He made you look like the mastermind of a rebellion that could have started against the Ministry if you two weren't separated and kept under control because, according to him, you killed your brother when he threatened to kill Riddle if you didn't come with him. So, on top of the way you killed your brother – in cold blood with some 'very dark magic' – he had you in cahoots with Riddle. The thing is," Black actually laughed somewhat like his old self here, "the Minister _knows_ Riddle! He knows Riddle hasn't ever hurt a damn fly and hasn't ever done anything wrong –"

"– Madame Marche…" My voiced sounded a bit strangled and worse for wear. But other than that, I guess the sheer disgust at what I'd heard and at the idea of what I knew would come next had kicked it back into gear.

He nodded and sneered. "Dumbledore wasn't going to leave it up to just his word for the story against Riddle. No, he'd have his witnesses."

"But the Imperius – I mean, I would _assume _that the Minister could easily tell someone was Imperiused." Black nodded and I furrowed my brow. Then, wracking my brain violently for an answer, I grasped wildly at the only one that – although a wild shot in the dark – could provide a perfect explanation for this incongruity. "_He_ had the Veritaserum with him? Dumbledore? Not the dead aurors? Otherwise it would have exploded too." Black nodded and I didn't need him to explain that bit. Of course. Even if the Minister had asked for a witness past Dumbledore's own word (which I honestly doubted he would even if he did know Riddle wouldn't ever rebel the way Dumbledore had claimed he would) Dumbledore would still have an Imperiused Madame Marche who could testify for him about what she'd heard about the Petrified students from Jorge's mouth. And even if the Minister could tell she operated under the Imperius curse during her testimony, well, Veritaserum would do the job perfectly – as long as he only asked about the Petrified students and Riddle and not about the fact that Jorge came from 2012, or about otherworldly Masters of Time and twin Thalia Espinoza's.

Black nodded, seeing the pieces fall into place in the expression of my face and continued. "The Veritaserum didn't even come out of his pocket – Minister Brown was too distraught for that and, by that time, Mrs. Brown had come in, screaming and yelling about her daughter…." He trailed off, shaking his head as he sighed heavily. "He arranged for Riddle to be taken away – oh but only _after_ a fit of mercifulness, of course." His sneer returned and he released a dark and mocking chuckle. "Dumbledore _understood_ that, although nothing as pure as _Love_ could blossom between 'two beings so hopelessly twisted, deranged and far gone from any form of help, _there_ _does exist a rare loyalty to one another among the two of them_' that he'd never seen before." He finished, still sneering, and then broke into a loud, almost deranged bark of laughter that echoed stridently and nerve-wracking throughout the entrance hall.

"He's kept her under the Imperius – and modified her memory, right? That's why she think I was shot…" I trailed off as he nodded and laughed even harder. "You kept telling me it was because someone close to me wanted him away from me that Riddle was taken away," I murmured when his laughter had begun to die down.

He scoffed and nodded. "Well, you heard your brother, right?" My eyes narrowed angrily at him and he smiled. "Relax, Spain. If I'm not stupid enough to believe Riddle's recent rants about 'the Spaniard's waning resolve'" he smirked at my confused and wary expression "then do you honestly think I'm so stupid as to believe that your brother wasn't used just as much as you?"

I continued to not quite understand (_Riddle's recent rants? Maybe it's more to do with his last little speech to?_), though now I fully expected Black to _more_ than understand my latest theory about the flow of sand in my hourglass along with many other things. But I still needed to know what the fuck else had happened. "Go on…."

"Look, Dumbledore…" He sighed and started fiddling with the iPhone again.

"How have you kept that thing going?" I blurted out, squinting at the bright screen that now showed the list of items – voice records – where my voice had come from that day.

"The same way your brother did. Magic," he murmured offhandedly and then clicked on my voice's record. After my voice played out, causing a shudder to run up and down my spine, he continued with original thought, a thoughtful look on his face: "Dumbledore must still be alive in the year 2012. It's the only way for him to fully team up with Father Time – the only way, I think, Father Time would have given up his Traveler abilities to Jorge. Because he knew he'd get them back when Dumbledore killed Jorge after killing you. In fact, he would never have to have given to them to him because he would never have lost his title as Father Time if his plan worked." My silence urged him on as he looked back up at me. "That's what I think the original plan was." He remained totally unaware of the question I wanted to ask, but I didn't mind. His words cleared a lot of shit up and I ate them like candy.

"So you think they've been in on it since…2012?" He nodded and I grimaced, a bit confused. "But…how?"

"Since 2012, but after the first circuit…. Time just keeps going, you understand that right? No _laws_ or _Masters_ could ever control it." I didn't answer, just let him explain. He looked like he wanted to sigh. "Time, despite what you've experienced with your Time Turner, cannot be controlled. Despite what anyone has said to you, Time has no master. No one owns it. It owns us. The only reason these so-called Laws of Time exist is to give us, as humans and Travelers and even as the highest class of Travelers – what we know Father Time to be, in this case – a way to function around the force that is Time. It's a beast, Thalia," he emphasized, eyes widening a bit. I nodded, letting him know I got it – that he could relax and continue. "Anyway, it keeps going – no matter what. So, when your first circuit ended and you fell in love with Riddle, changing him and leaving him and then jumped into the next circuit because you refused to die at his hands…that's when they knew they needed to do something about you. See, Chronos took a peak into the future – the one that would come, and technically was already in motion as of the beginning of the second circuit because your decision was made to take Riddle with you – and saw the same exact thing he saw when he peaked into the future at the end of the last circuit where you got pregnant and after Christmas in this circuit: a world dominated by the Riddles; a world where you, for the safety of your husband and children, will do anything to anyone else, no matter how crude and vicious or deadly." I narrowed my eyes in deeper confusion. He smirked. "You'll see and you'll also see how they started that mess in the first place. Right now we have to go. We have about three minutes before this door comes down and the aurors Dumbledore made Dippet bring in through the Floo network arrest us for…I don't know – something."

I sucked my teeth and accepted the clinking bag he handed me, asking, "But how do you know all this? Why would they want to do this to me? Why…why couldn't he just kill me himself if I caused – _will_ cause so much trouble?"

Black sighed as he stowed the iPhone in his pocket and offered me his hand. "Riddle will have to explain all of that to you – if he's not gone mad in there." He seemed to suppress a shudder or something and then spoke again: "The only thing I can tell you is that I know all of this about you and Chronos and Time and the whole shebang, dearest Spain, because of this funny little thing right here." He reached into his robes and, little by little, fished out a rope thick silver chain until he caught a hold of the tiny hourglass hanging off of it. This one held shimmering green sand in it.

I smirked. So did he.

"Alexius at your service, Miss Espinoza," he chortled as he stowed his Time Turner and I couldn't help it. I yanked him into a tight hug and held him to me for a good minute before he pried us apart and smiled. "Let's go get your better half, yeah?"

I nodded, smiling widely, and grabbed his proffered hand to go with him out the castle's front door and out onto the twilit grounds. "You know there's still so much shit –" I began as he half-dragged me down toward the edge of the forest, but he cut me off.

He nodded, a smirk splitting his still handsome features and said, "Totally. Don't worry. I'll explain it all once we have Riddle with us."

"What exactly are we going to do once we have him?" The question seemed valid enough to me though it seemed like I'd asked probably the stupidest one in existence by the exasperated look on his face.

"Still aren't getting full connectivity between the two sides of the brain, so to speak, are you?" He eyed me from the corner of his eye before turning us quickly around, moving us back a yard or so while at it, and yelling, "_Avada Kedavra!_" pointing his wand at a shadow that, in the darkening sky, looked like the Astronomy Tower. A violently sizzling and hissing yellow curse landed at a sloppy angle against the ground on the very spot where we'd stood a second and half before and the dirt there, still somewhat frozen from the dying winter cold, got blasted into tiny dirt clumps and bits of burnt grass. "Bloody quick, that old man. Run."

And we did. Before we even stopped to check if his spell had hit – which I think it did judging by the distant sound of the glass roof of one of the greenhouses shattering. Before we even knew who he'd just killed.

"Still pretty fast on your feet. That's good," he commented, hurling himself through a thicket of twisted and gnarled vines and branches and then holding it open for me to pass. "But I guess it's because you lost so much weight, which sucks."

I almost glared at him, but decided against it as I tried to pick at the thing he'd said about the brain connectivity shit. It didn't take a genius to understand that he meant about my two halves reconnecting and amalgamating mind, body and soul, I suppose. But obviously he'd had a point. _Is her knowledge ever going to be consciously present and accessible to me? …Little by little. You know about the iPhone and your son, right? …Yeah, but…but couldn't I attribute that to memory reception but just from another direction? Like memories from the future? …Does it matter what you attribute it to as long as you have it? It'll work itself out. Don't worry…. _But I couldn't help it. Even as Black's – Alexius' – silence allowed for me to keep thinking and trying to pull information that I know I have subconsciously because of the reconnection, I couldn't grasp it. I could still feel the rushing of my new magic in my body but I daren't even try the new magic for how dangerous that could bode either. But the information…I could use that shit right about now.

I don't know how far we ran – I started to see larger patches of bare land instead of thick walls of trees and brush – but by the time we stopped, darkness had fallen completely and the echoes of animal sounds had begun. We now stood, panting a bit and bleeding slightly from superficial wounds that the protruding sharp branches had made in our skin, in a very dark triangle of trees.

"Can you Apparate?" he asked me, able to breathe easier than I could just then. I nodded and then shook my head, letting my weight fall against the closest tree. "Rest a minute. I don't need a splinched witch."

Nodding, I let myself slide to the cold, hard ground of the forest, not even bothering to free the spot of broken twigs and fallen leaves or whatever else might have strewn it just then. As I caught my breath and felt the blood flow return to normal within my veins – the overall pulsing one gets when they've run too hard, too fast and too much went away – I started to feel the wounds on my feet. But, too tired to even hiss at the pain, I just closed my eyes and decided to deal with it later. I willed myself to ignore the pain – the stinging of the freely bleeding cuts and the throbbing of the areas still stuck with wood debris – and leaned my head back against the tree trunk. And I breathed. Just breathed.

"That's what I like to see, Spain: control," said Black – damn it! – I mean, Alexius a few minutes into my breathing, cutting into my almost sleep-darkened world. I opened my eyes just to glare at him (really, didn't he see that recovery hadn't suited me so well today and that I needed sleep after all that running around and jumping and bleeding?). But his smile, aimed at my feet, brought a crease to the spot between my brows, the feeling of which I'd almost forgotten.

"What?" I asked and shifted myself into a better position – more like, forced myself to sit upright so as to not fall asleep again – and looked down at my feet. Having an image in my mind of the last time I'd looked at them moments before – dirty, bloody, cut up and nearly qualifying as mangled – this new sight actually pulled a laugh out of me. "Holy fuck," I laughed and reached down to run my hands over them. Smooth. Clean. _Healed_.

"Your face too. Does your body feel less tired as well?" he asked me, lowering himself onto the ground right next to me. I shrugged and then nodded. "Shoulders and neck much better?"

"So much. Everything actually," I said, extending my arms and legs out in front of me and twisting them and bending them over and over again. I relished the feeling of actual free movement. Granted, when I came back to sanity, I didn't really feel all too shitty. But, after running so much, I did feel the fatigue and achiness setting in and well, now, it had gone.

"It's all about control," he repeated and then stood again. "Come. You can Apparate now."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I got to my feet and dusted myself free of twigs and leaves.

"Your new magic. It's…" he paused thoughtfully, looking for the right word, I guess. Then he smiled, adjusting the clinking bag in his hand so that he could hook it into a loop in his belt. "It's like Life – energy – always changing, always moving, always _ready_ for whatever the host needs. It's like Life with Time fused into it." I cocked an eyebrow at the near cliché and he scoffed. "Again, you'll see. Azkaban, love," he said before turning on the spot and Disapparating.

"Son of a – damn it." My hiss, again, carried and this time I understood the word the elongated finishing breath of the final 't' sound formed. Well, _words_. "_The pendulum…._"

I froze. What. The. Fuck. _Focus, you. What's more important? Riddle or the hissing? …But…but…I _hissed_! …Yeah and so did Emily right before she died…. What the fuck is your problem? How did she even get into this conversation? …I'm just trying to make you focus on what's important: Dumbledore and Chronos need to pay. Riddle is the first step to that…. How so? Did she have something planned with Alexius? My other half, I mean…. You know, it's crazy enough that two people are inside your head. Now you went and added a third…. She _is_ a third piece. One I haven't heard from yet at that…. She's _you_, you moronic twat…. Did you seriously just call me a twat? …That's from her arsenal…. Right…. Azkaban, he said. Go…._

I inhaled, and pulling back the illegal practice Dad and Jorge would give me for Apparition so as to finally apply it in an actual emergency – like they reasoned, I turned on the spot, plunging into the suffocation that promised relocation.

"Took you long enough!" Alexius scolded as I emerged from the darkness and _pop_ped right onto the slippery, windswept piece-of-shit dock that came right off the huge island, right in the middle of one of the strongest storms I've ever experienced.

"I had to figure out where Azkaban was!" I lied and he smirked at me. Or I think he did. The icy sheets of rain slapping us, trying to rip clean through to our bones, didn't really allow for too much visibility. The wind howled like a thousand banshees through the many barred windows of the structure that I knew stood upon the island, even though I couldn't see it yet, and deafened me to the sloshing and crashing waves of the sea around us. "Where are the Dementors?" I yelled over the howl at him – at his shadow, actually.

He moved and seemed to signal upward before yelling back, "Already sent up a Patronus! We just need to bring it down!"

"WHAT?"

He signaled again in the direction of the giant structure and then balled his fist before slamming in through the rain and air, downward. "Bring! It! Down!"

I figured that the rain, the cold and the Dementors had gotten to him and that he'd lost a lot of whatever he had left to begin with today. So, I lunged forward against the fierce wind that I'd barely held my own against standing still and practically fell right onto him.

"Control, Spain! Come on!"

"Are you mad! How are we supposed to –"

"– just focus! It will happen! Just concentrate and you can do _anything_!"

"I don't think that's how it works!"

"JUST DO IT!"

"FUCKING!" I screamed, swinging my arm upward toward his neck, aiming to catch him in a sleeper hold. "_LUNATIC!_" But he swerved and ducked away from me, effectively saving his own ass and sending me toppling over the edge of the rickety and slippery dock and into the churning sea. "_SHIT!_"

_SPLASH!_

A loud clap of thunder echoed piercingly through the night and I paid it no mind, too busy trying to keep myself from getting pulled further out to sea and trying to keep my head above the icy, knife-like water.

"CONTROL YOURSELF!"

"BLOODY MANIAC! HELP ME!"

"CONTROL YOURSELF AND SEE!"

_Ugh. He's no use._ Struggling frantically against the quick and vast waves, I kicked and pushed myself toward where I'd seen the dock disappearing into the sand upon arrival. My hands and legs searched for even the tiniest amount of purchase on the sand below, but amid the fierce waves and the icy rain and the continuously rumbling thunder, I couldn't even concentrate on which way I moved myself let alone the which way the water moved me. "BLACK!" I shrieked, swallowing a mouthful of salty water. "BLACK!" I choked.

"CONTROL IT! YOU! CONTROL! IT!"

And, finally losing patience and a bit of consciousness as the water sucked my head in one time too many and as I swallowed some more water, I gave up and let the panicked surge of adrenaline kick in. I might as well die not feeling a thing and adrenaline does that, right? I suppose so seeing as the next thing I knew, I laid face-down in soaked and sloshy but mostly solid sand and the water had stopped trying to pull me under. Also, I think the rain had stopped. But just for a second and then a final rumble of thunder brought it back along with an even darker sky. I couldn't feel a thing – no cold, no knife-like waves of cold water slicing at my exposed skin and at my poor lungs and throat. Nothing.

But, and I almost wished it hadn't for how close I'd just come to ending this right here and right now (this entire mess) and for how close I'd come to the much needed end to the storm, Black's – Alexius', damn it – voice called out to me. "EXCELLENT! EXCELLENT! GET UP, SPAIN! GET UP! WE NEED TO FIND HIM!" I felt a hand slap my face kind of roughly. Damn it. I felt. Then I stirred and groaned as I rolled over, already feeling the saltiness coming back up. "That's a lovely picture," he commented with a slight laugh but rubbed at my back and squeezed my shoulders a bit as the next heave of salt water flowed out of my mouth and onto the wet sand of the beach. The rain didn't sound so loudly here.

"I can hear you," I told him, quite stupidly.

"Atmospheric Charm. Same rain. Less noise. I guess only the charms are left now. Now come on. We need to find Riddle before he dies."

That got me moving. And yelling. "WHAT? What are they doing to him in there?" I tried to turn fluidly toward him and get up at the same time. Yeah, that didn't work. I ended up flat on my ass and reaching for his soaked robes to pull myself back up at least to my knees.

"What? Nothing. I meant that the ceiling probably caved in on him and –"

"– _WHAT?_" He sighed and I kicked hard against the wet sand to push myself onto my feet and took off running at a horrible angle toward where I knew the prison stood. As I straightened up to get more coverage with my legs (the straighter your back is as you run, the more ground you cover faster), I saw it. "Shit," I breathed as I skidded messily to a stop, splashing wet sand everywhere.

He caught up with me and gasped out, "I told you that you could do it. It's all about control. But come on. He was at the top, but after this much time in there and with the ceiling on him…." He trailed off and gripped my shoulder, giving it a shake before setting off at a run toward the rubble that remained of the prison structure.

I wanted to ask so many questions. Mainly, 'how?', but I knew that I'd only waste time doing so and that he'd said it right: Riddle had spent months in Azkaban already and, even if he was at the top of the structure and had the least amount of rubble fall on him, he was probably already very weak and faced a very real possibility of dying here. So, bracing myself for whatever I might see in the heaping mounds and chunks of the stone structure that now peppered most of the island and even some of the surrounding sea (a few of the smaller pieces, it seemed, had broken off and rolled away with unbridled momentum and inertia), I ran after him and began searching.

Hands. Lots of them. Some legs and feet – separated, still attached at the feeble joint, and even some barely hanging on. No heads, though, and thank goodness, really. I don't think I'd have handled that too well with how shaky I still felt after all that salt water. But I kept jogging. Despite the gruesomeness off the sight – blood-soaked sand, prison robes, and sheets…gaunt and skinned body parts, some that still moved slightly and seemed to make the groans and moans come louder at me…blood-smeared stones and iron bars from the windows – I sifted through the rubble and searched. Like Alexius.

He seemed to have gotten over the massive amount of dead and dying people rather quickly and now hopped and ran from spot to spot, searching, without so much as a look of disgust on his face. He just looked determined, which I guess explained the lack of conscern in his eyes right now…the lack of humanity. But still….

I could feel the air rushing in and out of my mouth as I breathed heavily, quickly and laboriously through it, trying not to smell the rusty mixture of blood, seawater and eroded stone on the air. It barely worked but got me to Alexius' side without vomiting and once I caught up with him, I grimaced up at him. Still no humanity there.

"The top came down last but physics says that that piece must have slid down the back – it's emptier and a bit smoother by comparison in that direction." I nodded and followed him as he led me toward the further end of the island, ignoring the louder shouts. Live – but clearly dying – prisoners, who'd probably gotten caught in their own Demented madness as the tower fell and now couldn't find a way out. "These people all did something horrible, Spain. Don't feel so bad," he chided me gently as we passed a woman – skin and bones and covered in…something – and climbed over a huge chunk of the structure.

"You sound like some POW camp leader."

He shrugged. "Which war? 1943 or 2012?"

"I wasn't alive for either."

"Then how do you know?"

"History."

"Biased."

"Some has to be true."

He just shrugged and we continued along. Finally we reached the far curved edge of the island and had taken to silently looking on, from a small pile of stone and metal (I think it used to be a bed or a bathroom), at the feebly struggling forms littering the beach. "He's he somewhere. Can you feel his magic?"

I could. I'd never really paid it much mind before because it had always echoed and reverberated quite strongly around me. But now that his magic had gone away – gotten ripped from my proximity entirely – I missed it and the tiny, weak echo of the formerly powerful vibration and hum that signaled Riddle's magic stood right out among these people who had little or no magic left in them. Nodding, I focused, just as I knew he'd tell me to do. I think I finally understood what he meant by controlling it and not letting it control me.

"Hone in." I closed my eyes and tried to see the vibration rather than just feel it. "Circle the area," he told me as I felt a particularly sharp jab from the vibration and even heard an increase in the low hum. "Triangulate." The vibration took on a sort of pale gold hue and I could see it – line after wiggling line in the horizon – moving, expanding from somewhere to my left. "Hone in again." Yes, definitely my left. There. Right over there. "Pinpoint." Right at the shore behind the cold thing – probably a chunk of stone – blocking him.

"There," I said, opening my eyes, and took off toward the obstructing corner wall, following the pale gold vibration. He followed me and, perhaps by pushing people aside and maybe even stepping on others, we made it to the epicenter just in time to see a bony, claw-like hand reach out from one side and grasp at the stone. "Fuck," I gasped as I got over the shock of the emaciated hand and ran around the rock toward it. "Hold on, Riddle. I'll do it. Just hold on."

And there he laid, in the wet sand, prison tunic soaked and pink with blood freely flowing from a head wound. Totally oblivious to the fact that someone had even spoken to him, he continued to grasp at the edge of the rock, trying to pull himself free. From what? I couldn't see until I found my feet again (the sight of his thinned out features and frame – lanky and long and bony – had kind of stunned me and kept me rooted to the spot) and moved a bit further along around the structure. Now, I could see what had him stuck: the stone pinned down a twisted piece of metal that looked like a mangled tabletop and he'd been caught underneath the piece of the tabletop that had jutted out a bit.

"He's stuck," I told Alexius and looked to him for help. I only got a 'no-shit-Sherlock' look accompanied by an exasperated sigh.

"Same concept: control it."

Thinking for a second, I understood. "Right. Control." And, again, I closed my eyes and let myself give in to the primal rush of energy. It joined me and I fused with it at the core so as the let it guide me – to find the way to remove the weight from Riddle's body. As one, the energy and I (because I was now part of the energy that flowed through me) barely even had to circle the area before realizing that the only way to move the stone lay in fusing the stone with us so as to cast it away, particle by particle. Said and done: we slithered, particle by particle, over the cold, wet surface – made of water particles itself – and particle by particle took apart the structure. Particle by particle, the energy and I – my magic as a whole – dissipated and dissolved the stone and, though I formed part of the corrosive substance eating away at the stone, I could see, _feel_ with my physical form, as the stone and then the table seemed to blow away with the wind.

I opened my eyes and saw Riddle's form slip, lax, into the sand so that it molded somewhat around him. "He's dying," I told Alexius and he needed no more instruction. As I fell to my knees, so damned weakened by the incredible surge of still otherworldly and alien magic sapping me of my own energy and by the mere sight of Riddle so…so…fragile and weak, Alexius took over and slapped down the soaked but still clinking bag next to Riddle's depleted form. "Please," I begged, reaching out, meaning to run my fingers through Riddle's thinning hair but falling instead right into the sand next to him. "Please…." _Save him…._

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><p><strong><em>Tom<em>**

Although I can now shut out the screams of the other prisoners and silence the moans of the little ones from so long ago (now that the Dementors had gone it's so much easier), I still stand by what I said in my Dementedness: I'll never know freedom again. As I laid there, released from the deathly grasp of the Dementors'…effect…and watched Black work his potion skills into near miraculous levels and even try to wake Thalia a few times, I knew. I just did. Nothing, I repeat – _nothing_ – in this world that could make someone as strong as these two, Black and Thalia (because, no matter what, no one could deny that they were strong), and as truly _good_ as them simply throw away whatever humanity remains in them – because to get to me they had to pass several dead and dying people, I know – could ever fall away from one's life, defeated. Nothing.

And I truly had no idea what had forced them to such lengths and carried them this far. But I knew, despite the furious echo of the image of the fresh faced girl who stood by the boy with the scornful words, that I'd gotten swept up in the same force as well. Why? Simple. Because even as Black smeared something that stung a bit across the gash along the side of my head and the pain of it reminded me of the pain she's caused me, I couldn't help but keep my eyes on her – face down in the sand, like me. I can't help but make sure that she won't leave my side again….


	21. Lament of the Songbird: A New Kind of Hu

**__A/N: **First and foremost: I'M LATE =( I know, guys, and I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. I really tried to make it on time this time - despite the writer's block and shit - but real life got in the way and well, here were are. Hopefully you guys are still with me and keep reading until the end. =) You guys are awesome! Thanks so much for the reviews: **FadedSunset****, RuledBySilence, mspstar97, Allie Riddle, and Trelaney**. Also, for those of you who faved, followed, etc etc, THANKS SO MUCH. I'm telling you, you keep me going and make me force myself to push past the writer's block.

**FadedSunset: **He was rather sweet, wasn't he? I felt like I had to make something of him other than what I originally planned and thank goodness that it fits perfectly with the overall plot. Lucas, if you look back at the chapter where she and the other Slytherin boys get drunk, comes from there and it is his real first name (Lucas Black, lol). And the reason, as you mentioned, she even remembered the name was because she was just losing it - one could say she just grasped at it possibly when he re-introduced himself when he realized she'd gone mad. I'll leave that bit to your imaginations. =) Thalia was born April 28th, 1982 and the reason I asked if you guys remembered was because that was date specifically in the chapter (well not the year but it was April 28th - her birthday). I so, so, so, so felt so horrible about sending him to Azkaban because, really, he is one of the people - when left alone - one would assume could never make it out alive from there despite his magical strength, don't you think? But I think you'll be happy with how it turns out in then, that trip. Oh as for the followers thing, lol, yea you're so right about that. it is hilarious. But what can we say or do? I'm just happy people actually enjoy reading my stuff and I hope people stick by it. =) Thanks for the review, hun! Enjoy the next chapter!

Speaking of the next chapter - this one - oh gosh, guys. Sorry in advance for how it sucks but hopefully the end brings a new light and tone to the whole thing that I hope people have expected for a while now. ENJOY! Oh and you know what to do =)

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>****  
><strong>

****By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Twenty:_ Lament of the Songbird: A New Kind of Humanity_**

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><p><em>"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey" – Kenji Miyazawa<em>

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><p><strong><em>Alexius <em>**

No. I won't tell you who I am or where I come from or how I got here, so don't ask. Save it. More important things should occupy your thoughts, anyway. The young woman who lay, still unconscious, in the far corner of the makeshift cave, for example. Or the young man slumped, nearly unconscious, against the wall beside her. For she may have recovered a bit – just a bit – of her lucidity and sanity; but much remains to lay upon her shoulders and though her instincts have protected her mind thus far, I must now ask her to consciously destroy that protection so as to allow her to _fully_ harness her strength. And him. Well, he has made the decision – quite some time ago without even realizing it, actually – to adhere to this painful path because he has grown tired. You see, frail as his human form may render him, he (because he is the subject of so many tumultuous circuits and of so much controversy across multiple Universes) has felt – with an intensity that could match that of her new magic – every ounce of the Consequence her actions have bestowed upon him. For these reasons, young and stupid (no offence) surveyor of our lives, you must concern yourself with them and not with me.

Yes, I called you young and stupid because, when you take into account _my_ age…yeah, I can't really call you much else. Because I know, young one. I know what you think thus far of this situation – of Spain and Riddle. I know it confuses you. And I won't lie; it confuses me as well sometimes but not for the same reasons that it confuses you. My confusion does not lay within the mundane confines of what has happened or what will happen for so much can and will happen as well as has, hasn't, and won't happen (Time Travel, isn't it fun?). No, my confusion lays within the relation of the power of the other Laws out there to them. Laws of Love; of Humanity; of Friendship; of Life: I guess, in the end, they're all beasts, like Time, wanting nothing but to crush what grovels at their feet….

Still confused? Good. Now we can read from the same page together, young one…. Somewhat, at least.

Anyway, the screams, moans and pleas for help had died down by now from the other prisoners and, although I could assure that many still breathed, one by one at least three had stopped stirring per hour for the last twelve hours just outside the warded mouth of this cave I've made. Sunrise would come soon and another three – perhaps even four or five – would stop moving too. They'd stop breathing. And I just sat there still, staring either at the horizon passing through its many shades of gray and then purple and deep blues that work their way back into the predecessor of the iron sheet of gray or at the feebly breathing pair at the far end of the cave, and waited.

See, right there – right in their damned condition – lays the reason why I feel so confused by the Laws of the other beasts. Time, at least, I've worked with it for so long that I can tell you how cruelly it has ravaged, will ravage and ravages us right now. But Love? Humanity? Friendship? Life? Well, fuck. Where can I find them now between these two who've lied to each other so much, who've wanted – at least at some point – to hurt each other beyond repair, who've decided, at some point, that the other's life didn't mean as much as theirs? But I guess therein lays the ravaging power of Love. Their Christmas presents to each other say it all: that even in Love (because by the time they gave each other those medallions, trust me, they were both deep in it – not just Spain), their own lives – their own escapes from Death meant more to them than that of the other, despite what they themselves seem to think those pieces of metal mean. See, this comes with age, the sight beyond sight – the ability to catch fear in bravery and to spot selfishness in even the most selfless act. And it makes you question everything. It makes you realize that, in the end, the beasts win and no _laws_ exist; we are all pawns.

But then moments like this one exist where you just look at those two: dying – right there at the border of Life and Death – and still fighting. So inherently strong or so inherently good (you decide), these two promise, in their own weak breaths, that they won't allow themselves to give up. Despite the pain. Despite the loss. Despite it all. She will suffer and she knows it – every aspect of her knows it. He has suffered and will suffer more and he knows it. And yet, that incredible magic that remained in him as Azkaban fell, he used it to live and push on. And her unbelievable store of magic that could easily have killed her if used improperly, she controlled it and now has to pay the price for pushing herself so hard so soon. And for what? To lay here in a cave, unconscious, recovering from one pain just to jump into another? No. You and I both know: no.

No, they fight for more than that. They fight because more than the _non_-existence of laws, more than their existence as pawns of a cruel battle of wits between the beasts, because more than Masters of Time and Dark Lords – simply more than anything else – the culmination and manifestation of their love, their flesh and their blood calls to them. That little boy I hold in my pocket along with the terrified rant of his mother and the promise his father made needs them. They fight for him.

…you have no idea what I mean, do you, by the promise…? Right…well, pay attention because here comes some more mind-fucking.

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><p><em> "I will make it the same end," the Hall of Time Thalia told her earthbound half before tossing the law-splitting technology onto the bed and bringing her hand back up toward the other's face. She didn't smack her – didn't even touch her – but, as we know, splitting the Traveler makes him or her weak and even more so when the two halves have spent their years apart in two separate realties: Up There and Down Here. Whoever came up with those names – if you can even call them that – for the Universes deserves to get tied down to a railroad track. But I digress.<em>

_ Dumbledore had long ago mastered nonverbal spells (no, really, he did) and, for letting myself get caught up in both the echoed screams of the Reconnecting forms and the angry pulse of magic that signaled Riddle's internal spark of pure hatred toward her pain, I'd have felt his silent Unforgivable make contact sooner. But, between blame games and faster reflexes, I decided to just move and order Riddle to help me. "Quick. Help me get her onto the bed." He hesitated, his brows furrowing suspiciously. He remained the only one, after this overly fucked up day, to stay by Thalia's side – and all despite the vibes I knew he got from everyone, the insinuations of his involvement in something he barely understood. _I'll explain it all_, I added mentally, slipping the iPhone I'd grabbed off of the bed into my pocket and bending to grasp at one of the girl's thrashing limbs. The Reconnection had internalized now: those piercing shrieks – her cries and half sobs – were well founded in an incredible pain, I knew._

_ Between Riddle and I, in about five seconds we had her settled onto the bed or as close to settled as we'd get. She continued to thrash and, though her screams had decreased in frequency, they'd elongated and she full on bawled. But I didn't wish that I could do something for _her_. No, despite the screams, I knew she could handle it – I knew she'd get past it. Riddle, however, in his silenced stoniness, made me wish that I knew a bit more about numbing the mind if not the heart. Sitting there, he made me wish I'd have acted so much sooner upon what I'd already seen in him and in her and in 2012. _

Tell me_, he demanded. I blinked and responded:_

You already know most of it. She's a Traveler. She's been back and forth – I think this is the seventh time – and she has made the decision a few times already to never leave you and perhaps even to take you with her somehow. Chronos – the current Master of Time – he stopped her the other times. Went as far as to break his own laws of meddling as Master of Time when she got pregnant in the last circuit because that baby would have meant he'd have had to leave you two alone and let her do what she wanted. He cannot interfere with the Laws of Life_, I added flicking my eyes toward his._ But he did and he couldn't just stop there. He had another piece of her up there with him who'd seen her get pregnant and could have worked the bit about the loophole out and he needed to alter her memory as well as that of the piece down here. Dumbledore helped by letting him come down here and interfere at the end of the last circuit – good actor, that man. The thing is, with all of Chronos' meddling and law breaking – Laws of Time and otherwise – he started altering the timeline further than what previous laws have allowed. He messed things up really badly because he sort of _forced_ her into becoming what he never wanted her to become by trying to deter it. He sealed her destiny, so to speak, and, in doing so, sealed everyone else's.

What do you mean?_ He kept his eyes fixed on her now violently trembling form as she whimpered and gasped for breath but the crease between his brows gave away his true thoughts. Behind us, across the room, Dumbledore stood forcing Madame Marche to cover up Emily's body and sending out a Patronus to Dippet, I guess. The Minister must have arrived by then._

Look, when she first made her decision to stay with you no matter what – to bring you to another period or another line or whatever she might have done – she actually got a good part of the way into the actual process of doing that. But Chronos stopped her. At first we all thought it was because he wanted his laws respected, but it went beyond that. He could have easily just let her do what she wanted and destroyed her for her lawlessness. But he wanted to make an example out of her to _her_. He ripped you from her mid-journey back to her own time period and as a result she ended up being split in two. And you almost died too: the journey on its own would have been tough on your form, but you would have been fine once she got you safely to her own time period. Chronos ripping you from her caused instability to skyrocket along that path and your own form barely made it. Dumbledore kept you alive as a favor to him so he wouldn't catch any heat for you. Again, he didn't need to make an example out of anything and if an innocent bystander would have died as a result, even his own disciples would have turned on him.

Disciples?

Travelers who support him – older Travelers who believe the laws are the only way to live by. Very tight-assed._ He almost smirked._ Anyway, after that, she sort of backed off and tried to find a loophole in the laws so as to stay with you or bring you back with her.

But why couldn't she just stay? What law kept her from doing that?

It's not so much a law as it is just the _nature_ of Time – how true Time functions, right now anyway – as it relates to her Time Turner and her Traveler condition. She made a loop during the first circuit and now she had to stick to it until she died or until what we call an Unwind – something that rarely ever happens – undoes the points she forged in the loop._ He nodded, considering this, it seemed. So I clarified it for him before he got the wrong idea:_ She only made the loop because Chronos told her that that was her only choice and failed to tell her that she could simply claim any period of time as her own and stay there if she refrained from forging a loop in the line. He actually hasn't been telling any of the newer Travelers about their _true_ capabilities. Again, to remind people of who's in charge.

_His eyes flicked up to me once and then back down. An emphasis of what came out of his mind next, _In your book you said that you agreed with his methods.

That was when he first took the Title as Master of Time. He was a different being then. He still remembered most of what it meant to be a human and a lowly Traveler.

That's what her brother meant, then? That he got demoted back into a Traveler in 2012?

Yes. He fell from his pedestal pretty hard and fast. It honestly would have been better to kill him.

What do you mean? Because he forces her to become whatever she is going to become?

_I answered his question with another. _How do you think she survived being ripped apart? _He eyed me from his peripheral and reached to graze his fingers over Thalia's now only slightly trembling arm. She'd calmed down some more and I could feel the layer of his mind that he kept accessible to us – his Knights – for whatever reasons (he'd sometimes need us to quickly grab some information from there and do something for him) warp and bend like some pliable plastic over the low hum of her baser magic that melded into the stronger and faster thrum of the newer force within her. He felt her, laid his mind over her vulnerable form. Protected her. I answered my own question: _He had to. His actions led to her injuries and almost to her death and for whatever reasons he had then – whether he wanted to avoid his disciples turning on him for the death of an unruly Traveler or whether he could still remember, like he's claimed publicly, what it is to understand human frailty and how it coincides with the Laws of Love – he saved her life. He passed some of his magic – that magic you're starting to feel in her right now and the one you felt in the other half of her – onto her to stabilize the half that was stuck up there with him. This kept that half alive and the half of her that went on through the journey and got stuck down here was spared death – equally sparing the newly formed parasite, a host-less parasite, her life – only because she crashed right back into her period of conception. Rebirthing saved her entirely, but now she owed Chronos a favor for kicking in a hand by keeping the parasite alive. He reminded her of this every chance he got – at every Crossroads – and kept her in line that way despite what putting his magic, his _essence_, into her did to him.

But isn't there a law that makes him responsible for her because of that? She owes him nothing.

Yes. There is. And I am so glad you remembered that one. You'll need to help us loop that bit around his neck when the time comes as well as show the others that despite whatever decisions she may have made, she only ever made them because his lies and manipulation led to them. Are you in? _His eyes locked onto her face and stayed there as he pulled back even the accessible part of his mind. He'd wrapped himself in thought, but I knew he'd still at least listen, so I continued:_ You've lied to her too. You've kept her in the dark about what kind of person _you_ really are as well and have manipulated her. Granted, I know it looks like she did all of the same exact things to you and in spite of what you did – because it looks like she knew all of this all along about you. But remember. He played her too. Even her other half kind of played her. _He scoffed a soft laugh of derision. _It's true, mate. You'll understand when you see her finally begin to understand everything happening right now, but until then, you're both in the same boat. Except you have an advantage right now that you need to use before it expires.

Which is?_ he asked, cocking an eyebrow and glancing back toward the Dumbledore who now waited by the door of the Hospital Wing. Very little time remained._

You're awake right now. You can see with your own eyes the lies that Dumbledore is capable of and with that you can take it on good faith, at least, that she's been played too. She didn't know – no, she didn't _remember_ that she'd gotten pregnant with your baby. She couldn't remember the end of the last circuit until Jorge forced her into her memory retrieval zone and even then he only did that because he was ordered to by Chronos so as to enrage her enough to attack him for attacking her and then attempt to attack Dumbledore for lying to her. Chronos didn't count on her other half coming down here so quickly, though, and that bought her some time. But even that girl – her own other half – played her against herself.

The little boy from the picture…her son.

_I nodded. _He's both of yours, but, yes, him. She used the tiniest fraction of a second's doubt to force herself back into her form for more than just that little boy.

What else can she gain? Her other half, I mean.

A new lease on Life, for one. She's a bloody parasite until the Separation had completed and even though she guaranteed herself some time by killing her own brother before he killed her potential host, she still wanted more. Her son. The love of her life….

After all this time stuck in a virtual Hell with the person who caused her misery, you'd think that she'd have forgotten about Love. Especially after seeing how willing your own brother is to kill you._ Even his thoughts could carry that venom with which he so often spoke on that matter. Amazing, really._

Yes, well, you've been right about one thing these past few years: what people confuse themselves into thinking Love is, isn't worth it. _He cocked his brow again._ That's not to say that the earthly half – the one piece of Thalia and of this whole mess that actually got fucked over beyond any kind of belief despite her own decisions working to her future benefit – doesn't know what Love truly is. That's not to say that you don't either.

It's not worth trying to convince me, Alexius. I only ever wanted her abilities – the Time Turner.

Well, as you've read in my book, that's been impossible and still is.

But you said that _she'd_ be responsible for that law to come into effect. All I needed to do was wait.

No, you needed to do exactly what you've done so far. But fine, I won't bother explaining it to you. You'll see anyway. So are you in, or not? Minister Brown is coming. He will cart you off to Azkaban and you will go – just for the show of it – but you will not stay long.

Why should I even bother staying to be caught? I can easily leave this castle now. I've already got the process of making a horcrux at least memorized if not practiced and I can just go.

Would you leave your son behind?

That rubbish won't work with me. I'm not as weak as she is. I can clearly see that if I leave now, he won't ever be born. And that's better than whatever may happen to him if he is.

Bloody idiot, you are. Look, because of the very thing that you refuse to comprehend or accept or whatever issues you have with it – with Love, Riddle – you cannot see what I see. But I'll tell you: even if you leave now, even if you're never caught, Time will always bring the two of you back together. Whether it be by way of another circuit in which Chronos' powers will have weakened substantially and hers will have multiplied because of her renewed _holistic_ condition, in which case she can easily instate or undo any laws she wishes so as to stay with you, or whether Chronos falls of his own weight in this circuit and she wakes up as the new Master of Time in which case the same goes. You will always come back together and the possibility of that little boy being born from you two will always exist. He will always be born. Her other half never took that into consideration out of panic and has forced her into this pain, but I'm glad she did. She sped up a near eternal process. Now, I just need you to cooperate. If not for the woman I _know_ you love, then for your flesh and blood, Riddle…. Please….

_The Wing door opened and in strode a red-faced Minister Elias Brown. _

You'd better Geminio that thing you took from the bed. The old man saw you take it and I'm sure he'll want it from you. _He stood from the bed, letting the hand he'd lain on her arm sort of glide off in an elongated swoop: a lasting final touch. _I'd better be out of there by morning, Alexius, and _she'd_ better be well informed. We can't waste time anymore – not with so much already going on.

Is that a yes?

It's more of a temporary affirmation. The second you flop –

I won't.

Good. Clone the phone now before he sees you.

_ With a surreptitious flick of my wand hand over the pocket with the phone in it, the weight already contained in said pocket doubled and I stood. _

_ "Where is she, Albus? Where?"_

We all owe you, Riddle.

_Dumbledore turned on the spot and seemed to glide over to Emily, Brown hot on his heels, and past us there. Us, Riddle standing to the right of Thalia, me to her left and her brother dead on the floor. Past us, like we didn't even exist._

_Riddle visibly squared his jaw and clenched his teeth. _Don't leave him alone with her.

Over my dead…whatever I am.

_He chuckled and, with the same smirk that now splayed across his face, he took his sentence – lies and all – with just one request: _

_ "I want to say goodbye to her," he told Dumbledore after Brown informed him that the aurors would come soon for him._

_ Dumbledore nodded and put on his little show of empathy. While we waited for Thalia to come to, I pulled out the duplicate iPhone and messed around with it for a bit, commenting to Riddle aloud about it, while I mentally passed him the information I wanted him to subliminally inject into her mind._

Why can't you do it? _he asked but he meant it as a joke. He knew full well that his Legilimency capabilities far outdid mine and merely smirked when I gave him an acerbic look from my peripheral. _Just the bit about what you want to do, then? _I nodded and, as he meandered the depths of her mind while his eyes fixed once again on his son's photo and those of his future niece and nephew, he mused: _Why does she keep that part so tightly locked? What's in there?

It's the layer of her mind where the piece of her that got stuck in the Hall of Time resided. It was ripped from her as well so what remained of the entire structure, to keep her functioning mostly properly, built blocks and walls around that area and she developed a tertiary section of her subconscious and conscious that supplemented the moral standings of the piece that was taken from her. Right now the piece of her that Reconnected is just setting up house, so to speak; but she'll have absorbed the information you're injecting and once the walls come down and normal connectivity ensues, she'll be ready.

Bloody strong walls, these,_ he told me as he swiped his finger across the screen of the phone as he'd seen me do so that the picture of his son came back into view. _

Bloody stubborn girl, this one. I'm not surprised.

_He scoffed and then, as Madame Marche made her way over, I said, _"_I think I've figured this thing out mostly_. _I just can't really seem to understand how it works here – it's obviously battery powered_._" _All done?

All done. _"How do you know?"_

* * *

><p>Okay, so the promise was figurative and I don't really have it in my pocket. Big whoop. Anyway…<p>

I'd failed, of course. I'd meant for her to wake up after her Reconnection had completed – subliminal information already absorbed and ready to carry on with the plan I'd formulated for us three – and to simply go on with the show. I'd actually thought she'd done a pretty good job of tearing up when Riddle 'dumped' her, acting surprised at Riddle's news of getting carted off to Azkaban and then the whole 'God damn it, I love you' thing was just the cream cheese frosting (or buttercream, if you prefer) on the cake. But then, when her eyes got this vacant look to them as Riddle walked away from her after his bit about him knowing how to love (which, even then, I knew wasn't much of a bit so much as an 'art imitating true life' thing), I knew exactly how fucked we all really were.

She went totally barking and I had to stay with her until I found a way to bring her back to reality, leaving Riddle to basically rot in Azkaban. The power and consequence of Love, right?

Figuring that I might as well do my part to the full extent that I can at this point and push them forward, I stood and made my way, twisted and most uncomfortably, to the back of the cave. Twelve hours of unconsciousness (semi-consciousness in Riddle's case) makes more than enough of a break from reality. Now they both needed to face the ugliness that their lives have turned into. I checked Spain's vital signs – a stronger pulse than before, even and deeper breathing, and a less pallid overall color – and gently shook her shoulder. "Spain."

She gasped in her sleep – a soft sucking in of air – before slipping right back into her sleep darkened world.

I sighed (the kinder thing – the more humane thing – would be to let her sleep it off and council her through her imminent grief, allowing her work through it, and _then_ see about gently prying open her mind), but I shook her again, anyway. (We had so very little time left.) This time she groaned and, inhaling deeply – she'd slept deeply, then, at least – stirred so as to remove herself from the near fetal position she'd curled into when I moved her. "Careful," I told her, laying my hand firmly on her legs to keep her from kicking Riddle in her sleep addled movements. She froze and then allowed me to guide her, slowly, into a seated position. Her eyes remained closed until I let her lean against the cave wall. "You cry in your sleep," I commented as I took in the red-rimmed state of her eyes as well as the intense green color of them. And the hazel streaks. Like the blue streaks her brother had. So bright.

She shrugged and tilted her head backward, inhaling deeply again. She released a yawn this time. "What time is it?"

"Almost dawn. About five. Five thirty, maybe."

She nodded and then straightened her head out. "Riddle?"

I jerked my chin to her left and said, "He's awake. Just out of it." Letting her head loll to the left, she bit her lip and I stood, knowing she needed a bit of privacy right about now. "I'm going to make sure they're all dead. We don't need witnesses – even mad ones."

"Why haven't the Ministry Officials…?" She trailed off with a questioning shrug and shake of the head.

I scoffed. "Do you think Dumbledore is so stupid as to let them find out what has happened?" She narrowed her eyes doubtfully at me but nodded, seeming to have straightened that out in her mind or at least took my word for it. Other matters obviously pressed at her probably racing mind. "I'll be back." With that, I turned and walked, half-bent, out of the cave.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

Waking up has never been such a bitch to me in my life. "Fuck my life," I groaned softly as Alexius made his way out of the cave he must have constructed out of the rubble. I sighed tiredly and shifted on the cave floor toward Riddle so that I now sat cross-legged, facing his slumped form.

His eyes remained closed but his uneven breathing – well, somewhat uneven (like when you're awake to feel tired after a traumatic event) – let me know he could sort of claim consciousness. And I just sat there with him, observing his ragged and quite humbled form – bloodied up by healing gashes on his forehead and underneath his shredded tunic and not quite here with me, if you know what I mean – while I let myself acclimate to the strange and nearly painful feeling of penetration. My fucking head _hurt_.

"It would…" began Riddle, but then he trailed off in a small fit of coughing.

"Shhh," I cooed softly, leaning forward and as near as I could to him so as to comfort him – let him know I was near. God only knew what he'd tried to say but the strength he used to get two little words out and how it exhausted him into a fit of coughing (tiny as it may be) scared me.

"It would be easier," he pushed out in pained sounding breaths.

I shook my head. "Shhh. Never mind, Riddle. Just rest," I told him, reaching to stroke his cheek gently with one hand and touching his lips with the other. "Just rest."

He kissed my fingertips. Again and again, he did this and then, as I kept up the stroking of his cheek, he moved. "Let me," he coughed out, flashing his eyes open as I removed my hand from his lips to try and keep him from moving. I froze and he brought his left hand up from his side to grasp my right hand – the one he'd kissed – and bring it back to his mouth. And he started again, the kissing.

"Riddle," I groaned, not quite sure if I wanted to reprimand him for using so much energy.

He sniggered and planted one more kiss on my fingertips before clearing his throat, taking a deep breath and speaking, "I'm trying to tell you that it would be easier to make the pain stop if you just got some fresh air."

"What pain?" I asked, a flimsily cheerful tone coloring my quavering voice. I'd just felt a rather sharp stab of pain that extended from the very base of my skull all the way to the frontal lobe of my head. It hurt so damn much…. _Fuck…. Relax…._

He sniggered and let go of my hand to plant his hand on the floor, same at the other, and to shove himself into a seated position. Clenching his teeth but not making a damn sound other than releasing the breath he'd sucked in to prepare for the pain the effort would cause, he got himself seated and now sat there, panting a bit. I grimaced at him as his panting broke into a soft chuckle. "It seems insanity comes with a far greater price than anyone ever considered."

"What do you mean?" I asked, only slightly humoring him. I mean, come on. He spent months locked up in here, slowly losing his damn mind and deteriorating…. Mental ramblings should not surprise anyone at this point. But still…

He sniggered and reached out to me again. "Apart from that – the mental ramblings are expected and mentioned in the buyer caveats, so to speak. But the introduction of new emotions…not so much…."

My brow knit together as I eyed him cagily – I really had no idea what the fuck he meant by that – but I stayed close to him all the same. Really, could I ever let him out of my sight again? Never mind his lapsed mind endangering himself and others. No, that was always a risk with him, Lord Voldemort in the making. I just mean…I mean…ugh…. Look, I know it looks like my mind snapped because he got taken away – and I won't say that it didn't play a role in all of this, because it did – but in all reality, that whole day – learning about so much and so much happening to me all in one shot…it just broke me…. He was the final straw…the one that really broke my psychological back. I couldn't ever relive that shit, ever again.

"Me neither," he said softly, letting his fingers graze my jaw lightly, a tiny pinprick of the brightest crimson shinning in his left eye.

"You neither what?" I asked and then scoffed at myself. Of course. "Is my mind still screaming at you?" I asked and he snickered, continuing to stroke my jawline. "You're still so strong," I mused, letting my eyes rove over his gaunt features in something akin to awe. How could he have kept so much magical strength in him?

"It hurts so much, doesn't it?" he asked, ignoring my comment. "I can't really separate the two things right now….Mine and yours…." His soft murmur slipped into silence and his hand, icy cold and calloused, cupped my left cheek.

I felt my cheeks pull my mouth into a trembling frown and my eyes prickle with new and warm moisture – I wanted to cry – just at everything. Everything.

"Let's go to the shore, okay?" he said, letting his hand fall back to his side and pushing himself up. This snapped me back and, sucking it up, I reached to help him. Once we got him on his bare feet and outside of the cave, he stood up straight and inhaled deeply. "The salt is in the air again…. You tore down the wards," he said, stepping forward toward the shore side closest to us.

"What?" I asked, not really paying attention to any answer he might give for his wobbly walk worried me more, and stepped alongside him, keeping my arm looped through his.

"Did you think you could just walk right up to Azkaban? Or just Apparate right out of Hogwarts?"

I had to pause there, tugging him backward accidentally with my sudden stop and then looked up at him, my brows furrowed. "_What?_"

He scoffed and gestured out and upward in an arc. "Wards, Thalia. Wards."

It felt like trying to ride a bike through mud, comprehending his words. I heard him clearly; I just couldn't really place the meaning of what he said. Torn wards? Apparition? …oh….

He nodded and smirked at me. "Caught on, have you?"

I laughed. Soft and breathy at first – mostly incredulous and rather a bit confused and then it escalated into a chuckle of connecting pieces and illuminated facts and then a full on laugh of utter glee. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious?"

He nodded, still smirking, and told me, "More serious than a heart attack. That was you. Couldn't you feel it?"

Shaking my head, I stammered, "N-no. I mean, well, at school, I was being shot at and running and then here well, I was drowning –"

"– it's always something with you, isn't it?"

"– and then I just saw the rubble – I didn't even know I…I thought it was thunder," I finished off tremulously.

He scoffed and pulled on my arm, a bit stronger than before. It seems fresh air only enhanced what strength had remained in him. He guided me right up to the line between wet and dry sand and stopped as the foamy tide rolled in, crashing lightly at our bare feet. The storm had died down. "So easily distracted…. That's good, I guess, in a way."

I blinked at the near invisible ray of light penetrating the gray cloud cover and hitting the still churning sea that hit my eyes. It kind of burned but not so much as the pain he just reminded me of. I didn't need to ask what he meant by 'so easily distracted'. "It is good. It eases the pain."

He shook his head, squinting at the horizon. "It will hurt more in the long run. You need to finish the process."

"How do you know so much?"

He scoffed and answered simply, "Alexius," but something in his tone held more than I could understand just then.

"How? I mean, what the hell else can I do?"

Shrugging he said, "Well, you tell me. You're the Traveler. You should know."

I shook my head and shrugged, eyes now adjusted and staring out at the same horizon he eyed. "I've never been through this. I mean, I've heard it's painful and kind of takes a little while, but months…and making me wish for Death?"

"Death is never an option."

"I think I said something like that once. Try going through a Reconnection and then tell me Death isn't an option."

"No, even then there's more to it and you know it. I think the pain is just distracting you a bit…. Remember him…."

As we'd talked the pain shooting from the base of my skull all the way to the front of my head had kept to a dull ache – well, dull compared to how the initial penetration had felt. But now, as the image of the little boy in the phone and those of his cousins and of a world he claimed as his but all the same feared – new images that I hadn't seen before now – flooded my mind, the pain seemed to multiply and pierce viciously through my skull and burn its way toward the frontal lobe. It was all I could to do to not scream as I gripped Riddle's arm and tried to keep standing while the horrible images made their onslaught very intensely felt.

"Let it go. Let it go, Thalia. Just –"

I cried, "For the love of God, Riddle, it hurts! Oh my God! FUCK!" Feeling the scream building in my chest, I clenched my teeth and kept it in, forcing back the urge to cry and react to this pain. But then, a second and more powerful – more emotional and psychological wave hit.

Jorge's unforgiving leer as he shot his spell at me in the bar. The utterly disgusting feeling of disconnection while I remembered my baby and Riddle's almost gleeful expression as he looked upon my blue tummy. The sight of Emily's burned and ravaged corpse. Eliot's words burning and tasting of hatred. The anger bursting through my other half and subsequently through me now as I remembered – through her part of the mind in me – how it felt to watch from above as it all went wrong: as Riddle fell from his broom; as Mike and Selwyn pulled their vicious deeds; as the world fell apart around young Thalia Espinoza and I couldn't do anything about it. Watching as Potter's wand fell to Riddle's hand and wondering what that would bring. The constant anger I felt at being trapped in the Hall of Time with Chronos and the culmination of said anger finally bursting forth from me in a fell swoop of a new magic – an essence once belonging to Chronos – toward the first victim: the auror who wanted to arrest young Thalia. The disgust and shock I felt at watching the auror burst and spatter us all. The contiguous and eerily connected pain of Riddle's threat to kill our brother if he didn't get his explanation. The torrent of fear and sadness at seeing how easily Chronos manipulated young Thalia and how Jorge helped him with the pictures of the young boy. The resurfacing anger at seeing the laws Chronos took the liberty to break so as to keep hold of his Title – the advanced technology of the iPhone, the spells that hadn't come into existence yet and one of them used on Thalia and, most of all, the heralding of new laws that may or may not need enforcing (the sharing of Traveler's abilities would be a last resort for us, I already saw this). That same anger pushing me to do the one thing I never knew I could do and subsequently destroying what little innocence remained in me and visibly tearing apart the hope that had planted itself in young Thalia's chest. Watching Jorge's dead body fall and everything from there on just adding to what had already happened.

It all just hurt so damn much and…and I couldn't hold back anymore. I sobbed.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom<em>**

She'd fallen to the sand amid her attempts to bear the physical pain, the wet sand molding itself around her knees, and now she knelt, sobbing a horrible, broken and utterly painful to watch cry of sheer agony. And I had referred to that earlier – the new emotions: mine and hers. For she hadn't felt this kind of pain in her lifetimes – never even really knew what had happened. And I had never even wanted to recognize such agony, let alone had the ability to do so or to share in such…pain….

I stayed standing while she sobbed and sobbed on the ground. I stayed standing while she fell apart even more and as the tide came in a bit stronger and as the clouds started to return to steely gray. I stayed standing but only because I knew, for my son's sake, that if I tried anymore to help her through this, I'd fall right back into the carefully dug hole of insanity that that prison had carved out for me. And seeing as more complex, more painful and certainly more terrifying things were to come our way, I would not risk her losing me to that. Not now. Not ever.

But, and as we all know, little Espinoza was strong to begin with. She never, no matter what faced her – be it Separation, the loss of a child or family or friends or even the lack of knowledge – ever stopped trying. No matter how tired she got. And right now, as she sobbed her lament and as she began to croon a broken melody to herself against the still whistling wind, was no different. She sang. She sang her broken little heart's pain right out of her – I could feel it. The torment ebbed and retreated bit by bit and I could feel something else taking a hold of her. Something very familiar – almost frighteningly so….

Soon, a bit after the sky had turned a steely gray again, her tears stopped as did her sobs and the crooning lowered to a broken hum and then to stony silence. And then, her lament sung and expelled, nothing remained but her fury. Pure and burning fury that, quite honestly, contended with my own and could easily win. Thalia Espinoza had suffered a lot, hadn't she?

* * *

><p><strong><em>Alexius<em>**

Most of the people that the falling rubble hadn't mortally maimed or killed straight away now lay very still in the sand: curled up against a piece of stone or burrowed into the sand, seeking warmth in their final moments; dying and, within their own horrible madness, very well aware of it. Humanity, despite what Thalia had thought of me as I bypassed all the desperately wounded and pleading prisoners, had died long, long ago. Not today. Not with me or with her or even with Riddle. It died the day wizard kind stood next to the Dementors and asked for their hand in maintaining piece over Britain. It died when people stopped caring so much about payment for an equal lack of humanity in criminals and started caring more about permanent damage to those who could reform if given the chance. It died when they stopped giving second chances.

But the destruction that the death of humanity left in its wake could easily be healed. It could pave a new path for a new kind of compassion…a new kind of humanity. And I would help it.

For this bit of magic I needed my wand – I didn't want to accidentally hit Riddle and Spain – and so I pulled it from my pocket before I swooped it out and over me in a wide arc that would, once powered up by the spell I had in mind, stretch out over the bodies peppering the island. "_AVADA KEDRAVRA!_" Green light poured into the arc and expanded, strand by bright green strand, out toward the people and, in naught but seconds, they and the scant residual magic they had in them to keep them comfortable as they died, vanished. Dead and gone. All of them. Save for the one prisoner I knew deserved no second chances.

Stowing my wand, I bent down and grabbed the loose end of the ropes I'd used to tightly bind the prisoner (for he'd shown to still possess much of his magic and all of his rage). "Let's go, Parkinson. I have a surprise for you," I told him before tugging hard on the rope, dragging him along.


	22. To War: The Legend Begins

**A/N: **What can I say guys? It's been real and I really hope you have all enjoyed this at least half as much as you tell me you have. I want you all to know that I really appreciate every single one of your reviews, add, follows, etc etc. I really do. **FadedSunset: yeah, they've been thru a lot and well, this ain't even the beginning. You'll see. And yeah, Mike = totally fucked. lol and thanks for the compliment - IDK about insanely creative but definitely imaginative. Enjoy this last chapter and the epilogue, hun. **

As I've said before and reminded you all, this is only the first part of the story for these two. There is definitely more to come so, yeah, more questions than answers, but definitely a close to this piece...for now, anyway. Again, guys, thanks. Thank from the bottom of my heart. I love you all and I really hope you stick around for the rest of this shit.

And now without further ado (or tears xD), the final chapter of **_Time Will_**_ **Tell**_

**ENJOY and u know what to do! =)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<em>  
><strong>

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**Chapter Twenty-One: _To War: The Legend Begins_**

* * *

><p><em>"Demons run when a good man goes to war." – River SongMelody Pond_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

Do you have any idea – even the tiniest semblance of a clue – as to how much hatred a single person can hold within himself or herself? How much anger? How much of their spirit can die a slow, agonizing and methodical death before they qualify as legally dead? No? Me neither. But I would venture a guess at 'a shit-ton load' to the power of 'n' – 'n' equaling any integer from one to absolute infinity – because right now I feel like a 'a shit-ton load' to the power of one million each of hatred and anger have pooled within me and, in the process of doing so, have stripped me of an enormous piece of my spirit…my very soul. And I still have so much empty and fucking absolutely _hollow_ space and spirit left to fill and strip. Oh, and I'm still breathing, aren't I?

_God. Damn. You…. Yeah, that seems about right. Right on time, too. Loss of life usually incurs a loss of faith…. Do you think this is funny? …Not in the least, love. I wish I did – that way I could say it would come back…that I would believe again – in _something_, you know? …. …. …We don't need it…we don't need Him…. If this is what happens when you just absorb the deaths so far…what'll happen when you see what's to come? …Nothing…there isn't anything else in the whole of Time and fucking Space and infinity that can do this to me again…. Hmmm…. What? …Nothing…you'll see when she fully connects. Those little flashes – glimpses of things to come, things that have passed and things that may or may not happen – that you're getting and don't make sense, _will_ soon enough…. Right…._

"Thalia," Riddle said softly to me, gently shaking my shoulder. I whipped my head round toward him, taking him in clearly for what felt like the first time since I awoke. I'd already seen the gauntness of him – the sallow skin that clung to his skeleton – and the lank and lackluster hair that fell limply across his taut forehead as well as the pinkish, healing scars there and (I would assume after such a fall from such a high room) on the rest of his body. But now, as if the draining of all the excess emotion and pain and of the festering wounds that came with them had allowed for the cleansing of the lens through which I saw him, I could see beyond all of that. I could see the sinuous muscularity underneath his waxy skin that still lingered despite the lack of Quidditch practice and his normal daily routine from his days at the castle. His body was still rather hard. I could see the faint shine his eyes still held and with which the one pinprick of crimson in his left eye danced as if no one had drained them. They still somewhat sparkled softly, his eyes. I could see, behind his chapped but still somewhat ruby lips, the wonderful little half-smile – the one I've always loved – hiding away, waiting for the perfect moment to emerge and to bring back – back from the dead like some all-powerful deity – the tiny shreds of happiness, true and utter happiness I had at his side. All those nights in the library. All our moments alone. Short-lived and perhaps a little pathetic, but ours nonetheless. He still held that with him and, seeing him clearly – knowing that, somehow, we now balanced out on _some_ level – and sitting here next to him at the crest of my misery and the trough of my _life_, I knew only he could ever bring back any facsimile of what I once held in my heart. Only he could make me even somewhat happy again. Because only he was as miserable as I was right then and right there. With me.

"I'm okay," I told him as he lowered himself onto the wet sand beside me, never tearing his gaze away from my face. "Really. I'm okay," I promised with a faint smile.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom<em>**

Still so incredibly…full of beauty. Beautiful. No other word could describe her – and this one barely did her any justice. Because for all that has happened to her and for all that she has experienced in terms of both her personal life and her magical homeostasis, you could never tell that she'd almost died quite a few times and in very brutal ways in such a short period of time. Much less that for a few centuries – at _least_ – she'd suffered at the hands of someone she trusted very much. I mean, aside from the still soaked through pajamas she wore and her naked feet. No, Thalia Espinoza, for all intents and purposes (and no matter what, apparently) would always remain this girl in front of me: shorter than me by a little less than a foot; somewhat slender but not emaciated looking at all – she had gentle slopes and swells in the right places that even now, after months of malnutrition, still stood out rather nicely; long, wavy, soft locks of chestnut hair with sporadic streaks of gold and orangey-red that caught the sun in illegally beguiling flashes of a purity that I'd only ever seen in her and perhaps in the glimpses of the homes of truly happy children; a delicately angular yet somewhat rounded and curved oval face that played field to those lips of hers – two soft, pink, warm, and usually yielding pillows of…_genuineness_, I suppose, her mostly straight but slightly wider nose, and those eyes…. Those eyes….

I'll tell you something. And I know that somewhere inside you, you're not too sure of what to think of me right about now – whether I deserve what I've gotten because of what you've figured out about me or soon will or whether I'm going soft or mad what say you…. Honestly, it doesn't matter in the least to me. I just feel you should know the entire story of this girl you've come to care about – because I can see in your eyes that you do – and from all angles. (Also because she'll simply never tell you, the hopeless wreck of an excuse for womanly vanity.) And what I want to tell you about those eyes is that I just need to thank whatever forces responsible – magic, deity, genetics or other – that my son, the boy from the picture, didn't have those eyes. I'd have never even…. Suffice it to say that…I could never have decided on my own what I _should_ do if he did.

And somewhere (probably on the other side of the island with the person who'd asked me to be so melodramatic about things in the first place and who'd managed to find a bloody semblance of a heartstring to tug at in a moment of pure uncertainty and devious confusion on my part – because I guess I'm still _only_ human) there existed a piece of me that could make perfect sense of this. There, with that piece, lay the reasons for my more noticeable change and for what happened next. On my part anyway.

I returned her weakened smile and spoke softly to her. "You know I've lied to you." She nodded. "You know that past the Time Turner I really never…" I trailed off, shaking my head: a universal symbol of not quite giving a shit. She nodded again. "You know that, in the end, it doesn't matter what either of us says to each other – what we _have_ said to each other – we both know that he will be better off just…not being." She hesitated. I sighed. "Thalia." My voice came out strained and a bit broken, to tell you the truth, and she heard it.

She grimaced. "It's not my fault," she complained and then huffed in frustration, sucking her teeth. "You don't understand…. It's like having a crowd in my head sometimes…." I cocked an eyebrow and she went on, her grimace mirroring exactly how uncomfortable the situation in her mind made her. "You saw what happened – you know that I didn't want this. _I_ wanted to keep him from suffering – keep him from…_this_" she gestured a bit wildly to me and even though I knew what she meant and agreed with her, it kind of…I don't know…stung? "…but she…"

I nodded, swallowing the words that had threatened to rip out of my chest without my consent before finishing for her. "She forced your hand." She nodded and slumped a bit, defeated. "It's still best for him to not be born, Thalia."

Deliberating, she stared ahead at the horizon, the grimace still tugging at her cheek. A tiny spike of sorrow ripped out of her and tried to burrow itself into me at this sight. Then, having come to some conclusion on the matter, she shrugged half-heartedly, a bit forced here as well, I suppose. It almost made me feel bad, but the spike of sorrow didn't quite reach where it needed to. "In the end, yeah. I mean…I understand completely – I have no choice _but_ to understand – her side of things: wanting her baby to have more choices than just the suffering or non-being…wanting to be with the man she loves…wanting just peace after so much work and hatred and…pure _bullshit_…. I really do, but…" She turned her head slightly toward me, now smirking that tiny yet excruciatingly beautiful smirk, and finished off, "She didn't live through this circuit with me…. She didn't go through what I went through and she didn't see what I saw happen to you…. She didn't feel what I felt when you left, what I felt when I saw you again, what I feel now – not all of it anyway – because she's too busy just setting up house and still rebuilding her little niche. She doesn't know what it is to be disillusioned like this."

I returned her smirk weakly and nodded, reaching for her hand. "I never expected this to happen to me, Thalia."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the closest I will ever get to an apology from Tom Marvolo Riddle. A legitimate, entirely heartfelt (remember that that particular adjective is subjective to the size of the individual's heart, so…), and true regret of the way he treated me. And you know what? I forgave him. Wholly and totally.

I smiled at him and squeezed his hand just as tight as he'd squeezed mine as his words fell from his lips and I leaned forward. "I do love you, Riddle."

He didn't answer, just closed the space between us for a few seconds, almost breaking my hand this time. And for that tiny three-second stretch of time where only the touching of two pairs of thinned out, chapped or icy lips mattered, I knew. For those three seconds, nothing else in the world was clearer to me than this. Nothing. My synapses fired off information to one another – bits and pieces of the entire sequence of thought – over and over again until overload seemed very possible. In fact, I think I just about reached the edge of insanity again – quite familiar terrain – with this old yet somehow entirely new bit of information…this _realization_…when, with the tightest squeeze of my hand yet, I felt Riddle induce the sloping, sliding separation of our lips and I came back to Earth.

A small choked sound that I feared he'd call out as another sob came out of me as he pulled away. But he merely pecked my lips again and whispered, "Thank you," as he stood, releasing my hand from his vice grip. "Who is tha…?" As if he hadn't stepped enough out of character these last few hours, he now trailed off with his mouth hanging slightly open at the sight before him but behind me.

It piqued my interest. "What is it?" I asked.

"A surprise for you, I suppose," he uttered after a moment of staring and blinking once. He held out a hand for me to take so that he could pull me up. I did and he did. "Look," he ordered, jerking his chin slightly out in front of him.

Furrowing my brow, I turned and saw Alexius about forty yards away walking towards us at a steady pace, leaving quite a wide trail of footprints it looked like behind him for someone so lithe. (I also took in the now emptier island: the debris remained but…even the blood shed by the injured prisoners had vanished along with their bodies. _I _really_ need to learn that spell_.) He dragged something along behind him as well – probably that bag of potions he'd brought with us – and I realized then that what he dragged had made the trail. Not him. And then, just as the instinct to call out to him peaked, my eyes locked onto what I'd mentally set into place as the bag of potions and what had really, once I got a better look, turned out as a struggling, bound and slightly less massive Michael Parkinson.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom<em>**

You could practically see the neurons and synapses working in her brain from outside her skull and slightly matted hair. The dulled shine that had somehow survived in her eyes that called out to her near childlike innocence instantly blacked out and all that remained were green, hazel-streaked irises frozen in place by an implacable hatred. A cold-burning anger that fueled the heightened pulse that caused her deeper breaths and that, within seconds of her spotting Parkinson, lit the incredibly short fuse to her rocket propelled takeoff towards him.

With a purely primal, animalistic and feral growl – no, _roar_ – she took off at a speed past breakneck levels and approaching blur level on what started off as just her two legs and then became all fours when she lunged forward at about ten yards from him.

I almost felt sorry for him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

I couldn't really tell you – even if you asked me while it happened – what the fuck had possessed me to act so rashly. I mean, okay, yeah the logical path existed and as clear to see as day: I love Riddle; Mike attacked Riddle. Simple as one, two, three. But still…. Even the most inexperienced hit man would tell you: be slow, deliberate in your planning; be quick, fearless in your kill.

I did the opposite, however, and paid for it.

I'd begun to release another roar of hatred as I made to push once more from the sand with my arms and legs and had felt everything within me spike furiously, actually hurting me in the process, when, with a short but pained grunt from me and with a lazy flick of the fingers from Alexius, his pulse of calm and collected magic stopped me. It felt like I'd just slammed into a wall when the springiness of his flexible pulse (he'd meant to stop me, not hurt me) flung me backward and I landed right on my ass in the sand not even five yards from him and closing. 'Pissed' can't even begin to describe how I felt.

"Fucking _move_, Alexius! _MOVE!_" I yelled, scrambling to my feet and ignoring the barb of pain I felt shoot through my lower back. My Quidditch injury re-breaking, I think, or at least cracking. I made to run forward again, still very fogged up in the head – not quite caring what the fuck all this was about or how it had come to happen – and just wanting to tear Mike limb from fucking limb. But again, and with another lazy (and now extremely condescending) flick of the fingers, Alexius knocked me down and this time kept his magic (more forceful now and quite strong) pinned on me. The pain in my lower back seemed to fade as my anger spiked and tore through any semblances of patience I had left and as his magic's strength against mine (whether baser or newer didn't even matter anymore, shamefully) made me realize I needed to focus. "Why are you protecting him?" I demanded of him as both he and Riddle came to a stop over me: Riddle had sprinted, I assume, and was somewhat out of breath and Alexius merely smirked.

"Relax," he scoffed down at me. Only my intense hatred of Mike and newly found focus toward harming him kept me from doing the same to Alexius. "He's all yours, I promise. I just need you to learn _now_ to control this. I need you to understand certain things too. Everything needs to click _now_, love." He kneeled down on my right, just outside of his own pressing, inverted dome of magic and spoke softly to me: "Do you understand? I just need you to be okay with this."

I gritted my teeth and pushed down the fierce urge to summon the newer magic and rip through his and past him now that I gained just enough focus to do so. More than just the fact that I knew I'd quickly lose focus again and just get knocked down once more if I did that kept me from going against Alexius' wishes. The look in his eyes. They seemed so ancient. I relaxed against his pressure. He smiled.

"I promise you can have him," he repeated and I waited for him to go on. He stood again and took his pressure with him, allowing me to stand (which I only felt he allowed me to do because he did not want Mike, struggling on the floor, to get the mixed signal that I was on the same level as he), and then asked, "You ready?"

I nodded.

He inhaled deeply, looking down at the rope in his hands as he tied it to his belt, and then took a seat in the sand. "It's a long story – fucking confusing too – and I'll try to make it short but you might as well sit too," he told us.

Hesitating, I shot Riddle a glance, which he returned, and then moved to sit on his right side while Riddle moved to sit on his left. We formed an odd triangle. For some reason that I chose not to question, as he spoke (telling Riddle about what happened after he left and how I went completely insane – thus supplementing what I said earlier about what I felt when he left – and all the work it took to get me to even grasp the tiniest pieces of information), this little detail seemed to always feel so important and kept me from just getting up and Apparating away from all off this. That and the look on Riddle's face when Alexius handed him back his new wand and explained how his old wand had brought me back from insanity.

"Were her memories stored in it or something?" Riddle asked of him as Alexius laid the older, snapped pieces of wood in his curled hands between his folded legs after this bit.

"No," we both answered and Riddle eyed us warily for a moment (more me than Alexius as I'd not spoken for nearly fifteen minutes while he explained) before dipping his head and staring down at the broken pieces. He stayed that way and I stared at Mike for give or take five minutes before Alexius spoke again, a clearly hesitant yet firm tone steeped into his voice. "I just need you both to understand that past the plan that we had to get out of Hogwarts and go through with this part right away – past the insanity that kind of swallowed all of us – there is more to this than just whatever logic you both want to see…." He paused, looking at us both rather pointedly but more so at Riddle and then went on. "Time – especially for you, Thalia, because you're a Traveler and even more so now that you're slowly coming into a newer, stronger and more temporally volatile state of being and taking Chronos' higher essence while doing so – holds pieces and objects just like this one," he indicated the broken wand, "that will always mean more and be infinitely more powerful than any magic you have ever known. Now you," he turned to Riddle who cocked an eyebrow and curled his fingers loosely around the pieces of wood, "because you've been completely yanked into this – Thalia's situation, I mean – by more than just circumstance and capriciousness –" another pointed look "– are now a permanent fixture. A fixed point in her _life_, if you will." He paused again and eyed us both, again, so fucking cagily. "You cannot, _no matter how hard you try_, ever undo that. Understood?"

We both nodded, fully understanding what he meant, just not intending to heed it. Alexius had already told me (and Riddle, I assume, as well or he just knew already) about Time existing as an uncontrollable beast: points along any timeline or any life, no matter how 'fixed', could be changed. Riddle and I had already decided, based on nothing but pure logic, that we would take advantage of this by any means necessary.

Alexius went on: "So, I just needed you two to understand that piece: this shit may be out of whack and completely out of play with what you have seen before, Thalia," I nodded, "but – and you'll see once the other half of you is fully amalgamated, so to speak – everything, in and of itself within any timeline along the Path of Time or woven into the Fabric of Time or existing as a part of the Time Vortex – _that is not a fixed _point – will always exist as an infinite number of possibilities. Anything can happen at any unfixed moment along any timeline in any existence in the whole of Space and Time." He paused, staring at us like a kindergarten teacher stares at a kid who can't quite understand how phonics works. But I nodded slowly and absorbed what he said while, in the back of my mind – the darkest corner that I haven't ever really touched since…I can't even remember when – something shifted slightly. Something moved and as Alexius went on about how the differences in this timeline had come into effect because of Chronos' meddling in order to keep his reign despite what he knew would happen anyway (so, essentially fucking with a timeline to keep a 'fixed point' from happening and his fucking with it forcing it to happen anyway or it happening _despite_ his fucking with it), I saw what he meant by infinite possibilities.

"And right about now," he continued, smirking at Riddle and then pointing to me, "it should all be falling into place."

The both of them stared at me, Alexius smirking and Riddle furrowing his brow. I could see this clear as day right in front of me, but – all the way in the back of my mind, I _know_, yet clearer than if it had come to life right before my eyes – I could also see Potter. Much older and more scraggily looking than when I last saw him, in an almost completely destroyed Great Hall – falling to pieces, my home – amid hundreds of us, injured or dying, but in a circle, holding a dueling stance. He faced a pale, ugly thing – a man, I think, with blood red eyes and spider-like hands. He spoke about wandlore and loyalty and love and…and…and Dark Arts? Potter morphed. His scragginess shifted and inflated into a lean and sinuous mass of tightly compacted and trim muscularity underneath a standard issue military bomber jacket that barely clung to yet barely slipped from the breadth of his shoulders. He wore no glasses and had no lightning shaped scar (in fact, had he not spoken with Potter's voice, I wouldn't have known it was him). The scene around him also changed and instead of dueling in the Great Hall, he now stood at full attention, in line with several other soldiers, in front of a fully decorated Army General, taking orders of some kind to aide in the invasion of…

"You might not want to watch the end of that, Spain," Alexius cut in and, as if his voice had funneled right into my head – right toward to epicenter of this image before my eyes – and hit a switch or something, everything from that piece of my mind plunged back into darkness and only they remained before me once more: _my_ Riddle – because, according the darkened piece of my mind that still had a voice despite the darkness, the pale man was Riddle as well (_scary as hell actually _seeing_ Lord Voldemort the way you knew him in your era, isn't it? The way he originally turned out?_) but he belonged to…well, to no one, really; Alexius and the bound Parkinson. Only they remained and she explained what had just happened – gave a nice little comment about the Great Hall scene and then the military get-up. But she didn't stop seeing and, therefore, neither did I. It kept going. Everything – every moment in history, everything happening _right now_ and everything that will happen and won't…just _everything_ ever even _possible_ played out in that corner of my mind. Over and over and over and over and over again. It never stopped.

I blinked and turned to Alexius. "She talks." He nodded. "Why?"

"She's you, love."

"But…she's seen all of that." He nodded and I stayed silent for a minute, mulling that bit over grudgingly, while Riddle passed his gaze back and forth between us both. Then I sighed, unable to push it back anymore. Because in the end – _now_, actually – and really, since the end of the second circuit (albeit with echoes and tiny pieces of it all) I knew. I knew. "All of Time and even Space…. All of it," I said hoarsely – it came out like a strained whisper – and Alexius scoffed.

"Right down to whether little Miss Shirley Temple wanted animal crackers in her soup or plain old noodles." I actually laughed and he patted my knee. "Painless?"

I shrugged. "You mean, other than the insanity and the pain of forgetting and then of remembering and…just everything?" He smirked and I scoffed, "Yeah. _Completely_ painless."

He scoffed again and then turned to Riddle. "Did you catch that?" he asked of him and Riddle shook his head, smirking.

"Un-fucking-believable," he commented but added, "Yes. I got it. But…how?"

I answered this time, feeling that I needed to speak it out loud to fully understand it myself. "Chronos. He didn't want me to take you with me at the end of the second circuit – supposedly, he feared it would rip the Fabric of Time and mess with the timeline itself or some shit like that also having to do with it being dangerous for non-Travelers blah-blah. It wouldn't have; he just didn't want us…_hurrying_ the bit that he'd already seen happen in the future – his demise, basically," I lied whitely, not exactly needing him to learn about that piece either. Nor you, just yet anyway. Sorry. I went on: "So, he ripped you from me and when he did that, not only did he almost kill you because _that_ caused an insane amount of something like turbulence along the journey through the Vortex, but he almost killed me as well because he ripped a piece of me right off – broke my hourglass and even spilled my sand, a _big_ no-no."

"Why is that a '_big_ no-no'?"

"You'll see. Now, I don't know what possessed him to do so, but he took care of the piece of me that got stuck there – he poured his magic, his _essence_ into her and kept her alive long enough so that she could, at least by proxy of his magic, become somewhat whole. Now he could have easily just told her to leave and do with her half-life as she pleased and made sure she died and, as a result, so would I. The way that situation – the Separation – works is if she and I didn't become whole again before it was complete – in which case we would have become two separate people – and one of us had died in either realm, we both would have died. But again, I don't know what possessed him to keep her safe up there."

"It's his own law," he cut in and Alexius nodded. "One of the first he wrote before he even became Father Time. You, as a Traveler or anything associated with such, save a life, you become responsible for it," he paraphrased and my brow knitted. He shrugged. "I don't know why he did that, but he must have had his reasons."

I shrugged and then did the 'yeah, maybe' head bob thing before continuing., "Anyway, his magic, as Master of Time, is different than what mine was as a Traveler and so it grew within her little by little and slowly began changing her Traveler magic to what his encompassed. It actually would have taken a little longer – maybe a few circuits more – to complete the transition and by then the Separation would have been complete and he could have just killed her before she realized what was happening and then killed me. But he let his desperation get the better of him, I think, and well he did some shit he shouldn't have –"

"– fucked with one of the most controversial timelines," interrupted Alexius with a condescendingly explanatory tone, mocking Chronos in earnest.

I nodded and finished, "And he utterly fucked himself over because, _due to his actions directly_, the piece of me up there realized what the fuck had happened: how he'd broken his own laws of meddling, how he'd made me lose my baby –"

"– _what_?" interrupted Riddle, but Alexius waved him down and I went on, wanting to smirk but at the same time, a bit angry.

"– how he forced me into thinking something had gone wrong in the last circuit and almost got me to kill myself by choosing Death over whatever you had gotten yourself into with the Dark Arts. She found out and put two and two together about everything and realized what he was trying to prevent – the loss of his own Title. But she also knew that it was more than just his magic changing within her that would strip him of his Title so she went and looked at the Fabric of Time and saw….well, what I just saw…what I can't stop seeing."

"What do you see?" Riddle asked.

"The future," I told him, injecting a cheesy and overly done ghostly tone into my voice, and he glared at me. I sighed and turned to Alexius. "Should I tell him?"

He grimaced. "It's best he knows. I mean, we're going for broke now. Now or never. He needs to know what's going to happen in any case."

I sucked my teeth, ticked off for so many reasons (only one of them being that I didn't want to be the one to have to tell him – not this time). "But haven't you ever told him…I mean…like about where I come from?"

He shook his head. "Not all of it. That's for you to tell him."

I sighed but nodded. "it'll at least explain in more detail the whole thing with my brother and…that day." He nodded and I went on, swallowing hard against the discomfort all of this brought on and added to what already existed in the back of my mind: "She saw us... _I_ see us…. We…hurt people…we kill them," I told him as his brows knitted together so closely they almost turned into one. "It happens because…well because people want to hurt us…our baby," I put a slight emphasis on the word so as to let him know that we still had to keep up our little charade and he nodded a stiff, almost invisible jerk of the chin. "So, we kill them. But more come and, like in anything involving a baby…people want to fight. We…well, we become what you turned into my time and…honestly we're worse. We…go too damn far. Further than even you could dream of, love," I told him and then looked down at my hands.

No, I refuse to tell you what I saw – what I see _now_ – because it won't happen. I won't let it – I refuse to. So you have no need of knowing. But just let that set in your mind: together, and mostly because I pushed us to go further not only in our names but in the name of our baby, we are worse than anything Lord Voldemort could ever have been in any timeline.

A short silence fell over us and, just when I felt like I would snap at one of them for not even trying to break the awkwardness – for not stopping for a single second in judging me for crimes I have yet to commit (and would never commit) to move on with the issue at hand – Riddle asked, "So, I'm guessing Chronos' Title falls away about this point in the timeline – your magical change now – and whatever happens next, to do with our son…it angers a lot of people and…what?"

"Well, like you two had planned from the beginning," I looked up at them and Alexius had the decency to look properly sheepish while Riddle just kept questioning me with his eyes, "we kill Chronos. You see, the reason Jorge even showed up in this point along this line was because Chronos from the future – the one who was left alive after his Title fell from him and he essentially got demoted, so to speak – transferred his Traveler abilities to him and he came back. He wanted Jorge to kill me – and in so doing kill the angry piece of me up there in the Hall of Time with him before she came down here and Reconnected with me. He wanted to stop what he'd already set in motion but he was too slow. She'd already come down here and well, you saw what happened."

"And that's how he forced this – this future to happen?" I nodded as did Alexius (he, because he really believed this to be so and I, because I just wanted to get this done with so I could get to my part of this whole thing that much quicker and be done with it all). "But…you have a choice, don't you?" he asked and I wanted to smack him.

_Stop questioning shit!_ I screamed mentally. _You're gonna blow our spot up_. But he waited for a response anyway instead of asking another question so I gave it my best shot, acting. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I can choose to just let him do what he wants – let him kill me if he wants. But let's be honest: that'll only spill more blood than necessary and seeing as I'm gonna be all powerful and whatnot and spill barrels and barrels of blood later on…I might as well save it for then." He scoffed and smirked at me and I mirrored him. "Besides. If it's going to happen anyway, I might as well make it happen sooner," I added as his smirk grew and Alexius seemed to stiffen beside me.

Riddle then sat in silent thought for a few minutes after this before turning to Alexius. "It's going to happen, then? No matter what?" And I fell out of the conversation for a minute, relieved in that, in asking this question now, he meant to keep Alexius calm and thinking that we still planned on having the baby.

I guess I owe you an explanation now, don't I? I do. I know I do. But, really, what can I say? You see all the cards on the table. You've seen my suffering and though it really hasn't done me too much harm in comparison to what others have suffered, I just can't put my baby thought that (and, yes, I know you still don't even know what's going on there – what happens to him. But again, it's not going to happen, so you don't need to know). The piece of me that came back from the Hall of Time went through so much trouble to make sure we ended up happy in the end, and I trust that she knows what to do – that with her decisions, my child's safety will always go unquestioned…in the end. But what about the middle? What about the points along the line that are not fixed? What about all the 'what if's that still remain to be nailed down into fixed points? Those are decisions that I, even with her as a part of me again, still have to make on my own. _I_ have to see for the continued safety of my son so that he may make it to the end where his safety is guaranteed. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you won't see him grow. I'm sorry that I won't give you that chance…. But I won't get it either. So, if you're angry with me for doing this and you never want to know anything about me again after this, then go. I'll understand. Just don't ever tell me what I could have done different – don't ever judge me. You are not in my shoes….

"…less sand in the Time Turner," I heard Alexius say after a bit of silent and swirling thought of my own where I deemed it unnecessary to listen to his and Riddle's conversation. My head shot up and he quirked an eyebrow. "There is, isn't there?" he asked and reached for the chain peeking out about the collar of my thermal. He fished out the Time Turner and took one glance at it before sucking his teeth and letting it slide back in, nodding. "I figured. I mean as soon as I heard about Parkinson attacking you, I knew something had gone wrong…the memory retrieval was going a bit fast and out of whack…but I think…." He trailed off, letting his fingers graze my shoulder as he pulled away and fell into silent but obviously very tedious thought. After almost a full minute like this, he asked, with a rush of air spilling from his mouth, almost drowning the question – very hushed and almost taboo to speak, it seemed, "When exactly did you decide that you were going to do what you want and not even try to change him anymore?"

I felt my brow quirk and then answered, furrowing them both, "Christmas morning…. Why?"

He didn't answer, just nodded thoughtfully and then, after seemingly pondering this for a couple of more seconds, shrugged. "Well, what's done is done. I mean, poor Potter won't ever get the wand he was supposed to get, but given the circumstances," he gestured to Riddle and then to me with a smirk and a wink, "I doubt he'll even need to go through that whole twin wands, Elder Wand, living horcrux, kill Lord Voldemort before he kills all Muggles thing."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Riddle demanded of him in a tone so damned surprised and annoyed that it caught be me by surprise and – I couldn't help it – I burst out laughing. He whirled around to me and gave me a nearly deranged look.

"Ay, Riddle. Just…just go with it, okay? I promise I'll tell you about it or Alexius will – I mean, he _does_ have a lot to do with _that_ particular turn of events along the line – but for now, just ignore it."

"Right. Along with the baby Chronos took from u – you," he countered and quickly stood, holding a hand out to me. I'd caught the last bit – the quick cover up – but said nothing and took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. "We're all done then? Everything has 'clicked'?" he asked of Alexius and Alexius then turned to me, a questioning look on his face as he stood and undid the rope from his belt.

I nodded and then shrugged. "Apart from the whole less sand in my hourglass…. But I think your confirmed my theory just now."

"Which was?" he urged and I shrugged again.

"Side effects. Just like Potter's wand. Just like his," I jerked my chin toward the now completely stilled form behind him (Mike had been listening in, I assume), "decision as well as Selwyn's to do what they did. It all roots from Chronos' meddling – the rushed memory retrieval more so than anything else – but the rest comes from my decision to stay. My time here was shortened because there was nothing else to do but to finally get to this point…to this juncture in things…. Am I right?" I asked.

He smiled and nodded, letting his gaze fall to the floor where the slack rope had coiled and then tracing it back over his shoulder to Mike. The smile kind of faded but turned into a sort of expectant grimace. "Yeah. So, as promised, Spain. Parkinson…on a silver platter." He stepped to one side and gestured to the stilled form. "Have at it."

I could feel all six eyes on me, staring intently, but I only actually saw one pair. The two, once tranquil, now utterly and entirely horrified cerulean eyes stuck into the fearfully contorted face of the boy I had once deemed comparable to Riddle in terms of courting me. What a fool.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Alexius<em>**

These two thought me some kind of an idiot or something of the like with their little games of nodding and 'yes'ing me into silence about the fixed points. But I'd let them figure out – even if it has to be the hard way – that fixed points are exactly that: fixed. They will never change. Want the proof?

Just look at her. The deadened eyes. The heart clenching cold that came over the entire scene as she took one deliberate step toward the bound Parkinson. The near satanic presence I felt right next to me as she spoke to him next:

"Do you believe in God, Mike?" she asked him.

I swear, I thought – but only for a split second – that she'd gone mad again. I thought we'd have to start all over. But then, as she knelt down beside him, reached out to his face and slid her slender fingers over his angular jaw once in a sick imitation of affection and whispered her next words, I knew – and for damn sure this time – that she, right here and right now, would fulfill her destiny.

Mike never answered her. But she'd taken his silence as a 'no' and countered with, "I'm going to force you, Mike, to _beg_ for help from Him. Just like me. See, because it's true what they say: bad things happen to good people. You know, like you trying to kill Riddle. Bad for me, Mike. Very bad for me." She paused and grinned or smirked or something that made Mike absolutely lose it and whimper frantically before she continued, with a smirk evident in her voice. "But see, Mike, it wasn't my fault that I fell in love with Riddle nor was it his. But you – ha! – you forced him to take the blame and you – you _hurt_ him, Mikey. You hurt him…." She scoffed. A chill ran up my spine but I ignored it. I knew this needed to happen. "And, don't worry. I know, it's not your fault that all this shit has happened to me – Emily dying, Eliot, my brother…my baby being put through this…. No, I know you had nothing to do with that. That – _that_ was all _Chronos_!" she yelled and Mike continued to groan and spaz incoherently. She just laughed and went on. "But you'll take the blame, won't you? Yeah, I think you will…." She stood and held her hand out to me, silently asking for her wand.

"Try freehand," I urged her and she smirked even wider, nodding and letting her hand fall back to her side.

"Do you believe in the Devil, Mike?" she asked, stepping back from him, smirking gleefully. Mike merely whimpered again and shook his head frantically, pleading more than answering, you could tell. "Well, we'll see," she finished, raising her right hand high above her head and spreading the fingers on that hand wide in what almost looked like a five pointed star. Instantly, as if someone had turned out the lights in a room with the door open, the sky darkened and the only light came from the neon-blue cracks of lightning ripping through the thick, black smoke of the sky. It barely illuminated any of our faces for more than a second for each burst and crack but it lit up the sky like a nuclear bomb going off with each burst. At first, it just looked cheesy and kind of Hollywood, and I almost told her so. But then I noticed where the lightning had channeled itself to.

The five tips of her fingers glowed brightly and her palm had a small circle – less than the diameter of a twenty-five cent American piece – burning a hole in it. She didn't even wince, however, and when she swung her hand forward and down, the light and heat that came off of her could have cooked a horse to well-done in five seconds. 'Intense' is not the word I'm looking for here, people. But even that, with all her anger and energy behind it – well a good piece of it anyway – didn't compare to what came of all that hatred channeled through one person and into another.

A loud crack sounded, flushing the sky back into daylight and ridding it of its darkness and lightning, and then, piercing the thick veil of silence that always follows a storm, a distinct, nerve grating howling shriek pierced the air. It formed no words; nor did it call out toward any one of our hearts in particular, although it did force another chill to run up and down my spine a few times before I could look down and see the exact source of such agony.

"Oh my God," I whispered under my breath, unable to voice my shock any louder, once I understood the picture before me.

"No, mate," Riddle answered and I swiveled around to see his expression. Blank. Utterly blank but for the red pinprick in his left eye and unyielding in any emotion. "He's not here," he finished, shaking his head, and I turned back to the scene.

"I didn't even know that was possible," I told Thalia as she let her hand fall to her side again and stepped back, clearly satisfied with her work, judging by the serene smile on her face. "I thought only the vessel of a soul could tear it apart."

She nodded. "It's true. Only the vessel of a soul can tear it apart. With murder." She held her hand out in front of her lazily, as if to accept something someone would hand her, and right out of thin air appeared three chalices of a silvery shine. "Mother. Father. Brother," she said as each chalice fell softly into the sand. "One piece for each of these and one…" she kneeled back down next to the now unbound and fiercely shaking and blood spattered Parkinson. "…for you to keep a hold of, dearest Mike.." She slapped his face lightly, like a coach slaps his pupil to clear his head. "Enjoy immortality. And those last few moments with the family," she ordered coldly and stood again.

For about ten seconds, I couldn't tear my eyes from the scene, still not quite piecing it together fully until I saw the broken glare he gave her through his tears. But then, pushing down the chills and nausea that threatened to hit me and focusing on the temporal excitation around me, it clicked. It clicked and I realized that, be things as they may right now and how they must be in the future, perhaps even men and women like Thalia – those who've lost faith – and those who, like Riddle, perhaps have had something pushed into them so to force them to believe…maybe it shouldn't happen like that. Then again, as I turned away from the broken (in many, unforgiving ways) form by the three chalices that held bits of him and as I looped an arm over an even more broken Thalia, I thought that this course of things seemed more natural than to just oppress her anger and act like nothing happened.

And, as both she and Riddle nodded to me their readiness to go head first into this battle and as both of their eyes gleamed their goodbyes to each other and to me, I _knew_ no other way existed. Michael Parkinson was the first _official_ casualty (and _non_-casualty, technically, as per the three horcruxes) of this war. Emily, Eliot, Jorge…and all those others…well, 'collateral damage' seems technical and cold enough to placate future historians. But for us – for Thalia and for Riddle – who will see this to the end, we will never have a word to describe them. Never.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thalia<em>**

Keeping up? Understanding Time Travel a bit more – about how any decision can make the biggest difference? Understanding that what I did to Mike – forcing him, within seconds, to move at near light speed through Time and Space, and to murder his family and to basically live forever – can never, no matter what good I do from now on, ever be forgiven? Do you understand this now? Do you understand how utterly fucked I am? Why I cannot bring a child into this world? Why I won't allow this to go further? Is it clear?

Good. Because it will just get worse and less likeable as we go.

"How do we even get back up there?" asked Riddle, glancing up once as if to see if a door would appear from the sky.

I answered. "Either one of us can move us all through the Universes – without the 'Crossroads', I mean," I told him, gesturing to Alexius and then to myself. "Technically only the holder of the Title of the Master of Time can do that because only that person holds that magic and ability. But Alexius was next in line – he was the oldest," I explained and Alexius gave me a death glare. I shrugged.

"I was going to tell you," Alexius told Riddle and jerked me by my shoulders a bit.

Riddle scoffed and said, "Okay, so get us up there then. I want to be done with this."

I frowned at him. "You're taking this whole thing awfully well. Spazzing out has been kept to a minimum, even for you," I said with a suspicious leer.

He smirked. "I've had stranger days and honestly, I'm not 'freaked out' as you would put it." He laughed a soft laugh. "I'm really liking the idea that I'm going to be spending my life with the Master of Time."

My heart fell. Of course. Another charade. And a show for him: three horcruxes in three seconds. New record. But I too gave a soft laugh (I wanted this too, didn't I?) and knocked Alexius's ribs a bit to get his attention. "Let's go." I too wanted to get this over with. The quicker I cut off the head of the monster the quicker I could get away from here and never have to put Riddle through more of this ever again.

Alexius smirked and nodded, reaching out to loop his arm over Riddle's shoulder. "You'll feel it a bit bumpy on the way up, but you'll get used to it," he told him and, before he even finished talking, a green fog had started to billow down upon us from above. It brought with it a feeling that I connected with both peace and fear. (Talk about fucking traumatized.) The fog pressed upon me and found itself purchase in every crevice of my body – eyes, nostrils, throat – and at the same time seemed to suck me into a whirling swirl of sounds and images. It seemed like so long ago that I had properly Time Traveled and I'd forgotten what it actually felt like. But, as I Traveled once more (and this time with Alexius and Riddle at my side), I fell in love all over again with the sensation. Even more so with the added sensation of seeing not only all of history and future of this timeline but of _all_ the timelines. I could literally see every moment of every piece of this entire Universe and all of its constituent timelines with more clarity than I had ever even imagined. 'Beautiful' cannot even begin to describe this feeling.

But all too soon (as all good things tend to do), and with a terrible jerk and slight pain in the back of my legs, it came to an end.

"Umf," I grunted slipping from under Alexius' arm and down onto what had bumped the back of my legs. I thought I would hit a coffee table (or, you know, something similar and pertaining to the Hall of Time theme) and prepared for the discomfort. But when my ass touched soft, plushness, I relaxed all of my muscles and sighed, ready to lounge on the white sofa underneath me. "It's been a while," I told the sofa, grazing a hand slowly, nostalgically over its velvety surface. Then, slapping it swiftly, I sent an ironic cloud of dust up and stood. "Ah, well. Now what?"

Neither Alexius nor Riddle had stumbled and now both eyed me expectantly. "You were the last one up here," Alexius said with an almost condescending tone and then passed his gaze over the Hall. "_You_ know where everything is in this mess." He turned to Riddle with an almost annoyed look of incredulity. "There was only one encasement the last time I was here. Very colorful, too."

"Well, yeah." I shrugged with a scoff, ignoring the last comment. "But what exactly do you need?" Indicating the tall rows and rows of crystal encasements that held monochrome hourglasses on this level of the Hall and then over to the marble staircase that lead to the 'one encasement' he'd spoken of, I pointed out, "There are a lot of people in here that can die if we're too crazy with this…."

He nodded and then chewed on the left side of his lower lip, deep in conflicting thought apparently. "Are all of these gray ones Travelers too?" he asked.

"Nah. Witches and wizards. After Time Turners came about, he needed a way to keep track of what happened in their stasis as well. More so for the relation of their Traveling to ours. Tiny blips really – less than a day and in some cases not even a full second that hardly appear in the hourglasses, hence the lack of color – but you know how it is. Especially with him."

"Mhmm," he made, nodding appraisingly at the many rows of encasements. "Control freak, much?" I scoffed and he smirked. "Alright then." He nodded again, decisively. "We find him, corner him. If only one encasement is damaged…well, that's lucky isn't it?"

I nodded but felt the grimace wanting to practically rip my left cheek off. A single person dying for my cause – you know, even more than those who already have – weighed too damn much. I didn't know if I could take much more of this. But, as he pointed out, and as you can clearly see by this fucked up stalemate, I have no other choice. "Let's roll," I muttered under my breath and stepped forward toward the marble staircase but stuck a hand out so that the other two wouldn't follow. At the reception of their confused and somewhat ticked off looks, I shook my head. Jerking my chin toward the marble staircase, I tried to make them understand that Chronos would more than likely already have heard us (remember how voices carry in here?), and that they needed to decided now where to hide, _silently_, so as to catch him by surprise.

Riddle's brow furrowed as did Alexius' but another jerk of my chin toward the furthermost passage around the encasements made something click for them and they both nodded. Only Riddle shot me a mental message as both he and Alexius stepped noiselessly backward, away from me: _yell for me, I'll come for you_. I wanted to protest right away. What the hell kind of insanity had possessed his mind? A death wish? Chronos may have lost most of his power and barely held on to the last string of his Title, but he could still crush – and in motherfucking earnest – a 'mere mortal' like Riddle. I just about spoke that shit out loud too (well, 'spoke' is an understatement, but you know what I mean), but a smirk from him and a reassuring yet dismissive air-slap from Alexius kept me at bay. Nerves ruled me as they rounded the far corner of the last encasement in this first row, but now nothing else remained. I _had_ to do this their way.

Slow, deliberate and (what at least sounded like to me) thunderously loud steps surely announced my advent to Chronos up on the higher level – where the Travelers' hourglasses stood – and I prayed (not really sure to whom or what) that he would attack me right away. I still held hopes of ending this permanently. Alexius could handle him, right? He, as the natural successor to take the Title, _should_ receive the entirety of the transferring magic from Chronos' essence upon my death. And even if he didn't I would make sure to stay alive long enough to pass it to him anyway. Easy as pie. All I had to do was die.

But even that, as I climbed the marble staircase and looked up toward the landing, seeing no one waiting for me (meaning Chronos would be standing right by the _Viatores_ encasement further along the landing), this turn of events that I so yearned for – something even Chronos can't ever deny wanting as badly I do now – seemed timelines and timelines of possibilities away. Virtually impossible, but never entirely. Such a fucking tease, the beast of Time, no?

"I always knew that you would be the one." I hesitated momentarily a few steps from the landing at the feeble cracking of the eerie white silence, and then continued, listening intently. "Not because the possibilities of this happening outnumbered those of it not happening. No. No, what made me fear this the most was that even when all of your timelines – I mean, every - single - one – had you dying, you made it past the first circuit. Past the second and third. Four, fifth and six. And now, here you stand: everything that was never supposed to happen…not even according to Time itself." Chronos' voice carried feebly throughout, give or take, a twenty foot radius and barely reached me. But, even as broken, tired and utterly devastated as it came across, it still sent violently rolling and spazzing chills up and down my poor, abused spine.

As I stepped onto the landing, immediately spotting him at the encasement, right at the broken, blue-sanded hourglass on the 'E' shelf, I stood there for a moment. Just observing him. I don't know what exactly I had expected after all this time – after all that has happened. I don't know whether I had imagined he would beg me for mercy or whether he would right away attack me and try his best to elongate and expand any and all pain he caused. I don't know whether to believe if I even expected him to stand there – to have stayed here, waiting for me – at all. But there he stood, still stooped with age and the weight of Time. Still in his white toga-like robe. Still staring at that defiled hourglass – defiled by his hand, by his meddling – as if nothing else in the whole of any and every Universe could ever call his attention more.

Anyone, as they saw him like I did there with his bony and claw-like hand hovering over the black-sanded Time Turner hanging from his rope-thick chain, its once brilliant glow fading as its counterpart (the blue-sanded one that he'd forged a connection with so many years ago) absorbed it all and took it over, would have thought he posed no threat whatsoever. Anyone would have taken his aggrieved countenance for surrender and mere nostalgia. Anyone would have stepped forward and even tried to comfort the old man in his last moments. Anyone. But not me. Dumbledore's last words to me still resounded resolutely in my mind_: Which is why I will follow his instructions and return your wand._

So, seeing as everything from here on out is plain old 'winging it' and I don't know what'll happen, I guess now is the only time I can offer any last bits of advice, right? Well, here goes the last of it: never go in blind – do as I say, not as I do – and never, _ever_ trust what cannot and should not be trusted. No matter how old and feeble it looks, no matter how docile it may seem. Also…never back down. Not ever and not for anyone. Take it for face value, okay?

Anyway, as I stood there, he rotated slowly on the spot to face me and, once we locked eyes and once the glow on his Time Turner faded into mere reflection from the bright whiteness all around us, he smiled brokenly, sadly up at me, letting his bony hand fall to his side. "We shall see how long that lasts."

Have you ever seen those old Bruce Lee films or even the more modern but still pretty old Jackie Chan ones where the two opponents face off, talking smack to each other – killing cheesy pun after cheesy pun – and then, when the villain of the two (or sometimes, in the more heroically based or cheesier films, the hero) speaks his or her final pun, the fight music begins and both take their stances to start throwing kicks, punches and all of the like around? Yeah, this here: nothing like that. Oh, Chronos may have wanted to elicit _some_ kind of reaction out of me akin to those old films. But the reality stood as such: all I have to do – once I size up the same aged form I'd left behind all the months ago and once I add in the factors of my anger, my new strength, my hatred and my resolve and place it on a scale against whatever it is that he wants – is to simply stand up against him. His own inertia and momentum, so to speak, against something so resolutely solid (in, oh, so many ways) would annihilate and pulverize him.

I nodded but didn't move another muscle besides that. He took a step toward me. I still didn't budge.

Smirking, he hesitated and asked, "Will your friends be joining us?"

I shrugged. "I think they'd rather watch me become a legend…of sorts. It's cooler and makes great fodder for that Facebook and Twitter shit. Alexius and his iPhone, and all."

His smirk faded. "Temporal advances are ill –"

I cut him off: "– shut _up_, Chronos! No one fucking cares anymore. I got a look at Alexius' book, you know." Somewhat true – I did see Alexius writing the thing in the infinity that now exists in my mind. I just never looked into the details of it enough to properly ascertain my statement's perfect exactitude. But, hey, going for broke, here, remember? No time. But still…do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, he didn't protest it or negate it. Instead he merely glowered at me. "I asked him not to write it. I knew it could cause trouble, eventually. But…times were different then," he muttered sullenly, taking another step forward and then letting his blind gaze fall away from me and toward the edge of the landing, down the staircase. "The only Time Turners, were ours – the natural ones, purely temporal and devastatingly destructive. But infinitely beautiful." He returned his whited out gaze to me, the blindness burning with an eternal fury, as he finished, "Never _crafted_."

Of course. An eternal fury fueled by a distinct resentment due to a lack of uniqueness – a lack of absolute superiority in his natural niche: Time. _The same old shit over and over again, right? …Does every homicidal maniac tend to think this way?_ I shortly entertained the wistful idea that Riddle and Chronos would have actually made great bosom buddies, perhaps, while Chronos continued to leer at me as if _I_ had invented the manmade Time Turners or some shit along that line. Then, causing an almighty fucking shock to rock my entire stasis, the old crone (possibly with every last drop that remained of his entire depleted store of strength) lunged forward, summoning his scythe, which had leaned against the furthest side of this encasement, to his hand and sending forth from its curved and sharpened point, a blindingly white ray of light. Said beam of light barely grazed me for I'd swerved to the opposite side, already feeling its intense heat before it even crossed the five foot mark from me; but it did make contact and that tiny fraction of a second cost me my entire left sleeve and the top few layers of skin on my shoulder and forearm. "FUCK!" I bellowed without thinking, both wanting to grasp my arm and to cut it off to avoid the pain. And even before what happened next (in record time, mind you), I regretted it more than I have ever regretted anything in my whole God forsaken life.

Somewhere on the lower level, toward the back end where Alexius and Riddle had hid themselves away, a distant but sonorous _crash_ sounded – like a lot of glass breaking. Then, as if on cue and expecting the combination of both my yell of pain and the crashing of knocked over Time Turners (the latter in an attempt to quell the former, I suppose), a booming _thump_ came from the same end as the glass, simultaneously accompanying the sound of at least twenty pairs of heavily clad feet running across the stone floor from all sides of the lower level. Doors slammed open – the room of the Fabric and the room of the Time Turner presentations – and glasses crashed and spilled sands of Time – I could feel every grain as if someone rubbed it against my burned arm. The sensation of so many lives – lives that had probably only ever just _seen_ a Time Turner – falling into the depths of the Underworld and getting sealed in…ugh…completely indescribable on an emotional plane let alone a temporal one. It disgusted me to my core.

"I always win, dearest Thalia. Always." Chronos' whisper barely reached my ears, barely even penetrated the outermost part of the new din in the Hall. Glasses continued to crash and now grunts and yells of fury and battle had joined in on the heavy footfalls and bodily blunders, but it all seemed to fade away as I turned, my right hand hovering over my left arm, toward the tiny voice.

I could feel the roundness of my eyes as the image of Chronos lying on the floor, sprawled out like some toddler who'd run too fast and tripped over his own two feet, with his scythe mere inches from his outstretched left hand and of the blood trickling from his mouth only to pool beneath his wrinkled and paper-like cheek met them and traveled back into my synapses. I could feel the roundness of them and then the moisture that coated them for a tiny fraction of a moment before I let my right hand reach forward as well as my left (albeit painfully) and then, as he rattled out his last breath and I hovered about a meter away from him, unsure of what to do, I felt an immense and purely instinctual fear overtake me. That fear combining with the now whole and all-consuming essence of the Master of Time dwelling and rushing within me, surged a series of thoughts and realizations through me in such a rushed manner that, even as I stood and made to take a step toward the landing of the staircase, I couldn't outrun it. _He was human as he died…. Yeah, you knew that would happen…. Yeah, but…I don't know. I don't think he would have chosen to die that way – he would've done anything to avoid it: dying as a mere wizard. Anything…. Yeah, well, obviously he couldn't. He preferred to try to kill you…. Exactly! Why? Why waste that last bit on me when he had all of these disciples of his hidden about here. When any of them could have _at least_ caught me by surprise and kept me busy enough until his magic completely depleted and left him for dead? …You think something is up? …I don't know…It just seems odd of him to do something like that…. Maybe…. Yeah…._

I rushed my way down the stairs and, stepping onto the lower level of the Hall, I barely missed running into a rugged looking hulk of man…or beast. I really couldn't tell nor did I really care. I just kept running through how weird Chronos had comported himself in the back of my mind while the front occupied itself with finding Riddle and dragging him to the presentations room. Things had not gone how I wanted them to presently, but I'd be fucked backward on a broom in Hell by Satan himself before I let shit slip out of control any further. I – just as much as Riddle – _needed _to make this happen…or not happen. Whichever way you prefer to look at it. But Alexius, as much as it hurt me (because in the end I owe it to him that I could even grasp the fact that I had a son to look after or even that I still lived in a very _real_ world and, just all around basically, he's such an amazing person), could not – not even for a split second – know of my intentions or receive help in his current dilemma. I could not save him like I would Riddle. Not if I wanted things to go my way.

I passed several piles of sand and shattered glass and warped pieces of brass (the lids and bottoms of the monochrome hourglasses) before I made it to the further end of the Hall – feet away from the room of presentations – and as I rounded that corner, my plan almost fell to complete waste.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" bellowed Alexius, firing off several icy and burning pulses of magic and light toward a tiny, scrawny excuse for a person not ten feet from him, and stepping in front of me in a protective stance. "GO!" he ordered and before I could even open my mouth to release whatever lie I could think of on the spot, the scrawny man belted out about eight or ten violently yellow and green pulses of light and then followed those with an enormous pulse of magic that knocked Alexius up and away from me, down the nearest aisle.

The scrawny man then turned his sights on me and leered an awful smirk. "'Ello, poppet," he drawled and made to step forward. Unfortunately for him, not only did I not have time for his bullshit, but he'd also just attacked my friend. Big bleeding no-no, loves. Big no-no.

I barely even had to think of him blowing up like the auror did in the Hospital Wing that day for a brutal yet tiny spherical piece of my newer magic to swell up in my stomach and much less for it to spit forth and force its way into the piece of shit standing before me. You can never really get used to blood and guts spattering all over you like that. Never. But, in light of Alexius's possible KO, I needed to move and so I ran again, by passing rows and rows of shattered glasses, in between which, more than twenty (possibly about thirty or forty) Travelers fought, one another. I didn't quite understand it and much less when I saw that some of them had the same triangular eye either patched into their raggedy clothes or marked into their skin. But again, I had no time.

"Thalia!" And it got even shorter when I heard Alexius call after me.

"Fuck!" I huffed and kept running toward the back end of this path, toward the Fabric room, where several Travelers stood stalk still. About four or five in an odd semi-circle. Furrowing my brow and sucking in sharp breaths to try and ease to stich forming in my chest and compensate for the fucking furious sting of the burn on my arm, I pushed myself harder. I wondered what the fuck could have entranced these men (no triangular eyes on any part that I could see) the way it had and, had I not gained back the use of the darkest corner of my mind – a necessary extra piece, apparently – I would've run right into it myself once I reached the semi-circle. "Riddle!" I gasped, spotting him almost backed up against the wall.

He held his stance, wand held high and arced over his head in an elegant duel position, ready to attack. I almost asked him why he didn't attack while these men were stuck this way by what I could now feel and easily single out as an incredibly Dark magically and physically binding spell (one very similar in style and potency to the one Chronos had tried to keep on me in all of my time up here with him). Then, seeing the crease in his forehead and the thin line his mouth had formed, I realized: this _was_ his attack; this strength was coming from him.

"Tom?" I ventured carefully, not wanting to break his concentration. He didn't answer and though it seemed totally out of my range of capability (and, not to mention, style), I knew what I had to do to not only help him but to get him out of here. And I only had a few seconds left judging by Alexius' renewed yells and intermittent grunts. He'd gotten caught up by a new opponent and would soon kill him, but I had just these seconds left. I opted for a less messy kill this time and simply absorbed the static magic that did not connect with the Dark magic floating around the area that I knew belonged to Riddle. As the last _thudsmack_ sounded of the dead body hitting the floor and as Riddle eased his pose and released a breath, I asked, "How?"

"Alexius," he panted. "He had some extra magic or essence or something and he passed it to me…. Hurt like a bitch," he groaned, about to let himself lean against the wall.

I nodded, giving him a sympathetic look, but grabbed him by his left upper arm. "I know and I'm sorry. I'm just gonna make it hurt more," I told him and yanked him around away from this path and along the very back wall of the Hall, around back toward the marble staircase. I would need my defiled glass and the spilled sand for this.

"What now?" he asked as we ran.

"Just grab his Time Turner when we get there, okay?"

He huffed along right behind me but didn't answer. I took it for a 'fine'.

"Go," I ordered him once at the landing, releasing him and running toward the encasement. Carefully, gingerly, I lifted the defiled larger hourglass, making sure not to knock more sand out of it (even though the crack had surely sealed itself by now – temporal homeostasis in a jar and whatnot, basically). Then, once I had it carefully tucked into the crook of my still angrily smarting left arm, I gathered together the spilled sand near the edge of the shelf and turned to Riddle just as he made it back to my side. "Can you open it?" I asked him, indicating the black-sanded hourglass he inspected in his hands.

He nodded and used what I assumed remained of his borrowed essence to undo the lid of the tiny glass. "That goes in here, I'm guessing," he muttered and I nodded, smiling,

"Already getting the hang of it?" He smirked at me, his left red-glinted eye shining down at me. I smirked back and scraped the spilled sand into the awaiting tiny glass he held to the edge of the shelf. It almost spilled over, but once he placed the lid back on, everything seemed fine. "Give it here," I said, holding my right hand out for it. "I need to induct you. Come." Turning on my heel, not even making sure he fully grasped what I said (not even really trying to do so for want of _not_ wanting to care anymore), I booked it down the stairs and back along the front row – now empty of Travelers, but littered with even more sand and glass – and right to the room of the Timer Turner presentations. I know, I know. Bullshit name, but Chronos never told me what he called it and, as far as the infinity in my mind could tell, no one had ever told him. It had no proper name; so a bullshit one would do for now. "In here," I ordered Riddle indicating the door that had gotten blasted off of its hinges. It had served as an ambush room today, I suppose.

He went in and I followed.

Immaculate as the first time I ever saw the accursed space, the room seemed to gleam even whiter than the external Hall. It bugged me out.

I set the two hourglasses, larger and smaller, onto the baroquely designed table and inhaled deeply, preparing. "I don't know exactly how it works –"

"– great," he cut in sarcastically, but smirking.

I scoffed and continued. "But I can pretty much feel, most of the shit is done anyway. It's…it's that it's a new law. My first law," I told him, smiling. He smirked at me and nudged me lightly to continue. "I am going to give you my older abilities, which, judging by what I saw out there, really doesn't compare the Master shit, but…it's still pretty good. Reread Alexius' book."

He nodded. "It already makes more sense, honestly."

I nodded and then exhaled with a _whoosh_. "You were not born a Traveler, Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior. But you, from my own existence and my own legacy, will undertake what I willingly and…" I gazed up at him, deliberating for a moment on how exactly I should word this law. I mean, it has its benefits and I _know_ I need to put this law into effect (Jorge's presence in 1943 told me that). But, as with anything, I just preferred to err on the side of caution. "…with pure and imperfect love hand over to you. You, of my own existence, legacy and love will accept the gift of Time." Nothing spectacular happened. Nothing glowed or shined or anything. Because I meant it to happen that way just in case someone else ever needed to do this in the dead of night and hidden from danger. I picked up the smaller still mostly black-sanded glass and held it for a moment. "Do you accept?"

"I do," he uttered and accepted the tiny glass on the rope-thick chain.

For a split second, as our fingers grazed each other's, I thought that maybe I couldn't control all of the magical expulsion from the exchange and that perhaps the jolt I felt rock me upon contact would follow through in the same exact way for any and every person who ever made the same exchange from here on out. I honestly thought that the constricting of my abdominal muscles and of my shoulders formed a part of the process, as well as the bitter, cold taste of my mouth. But then, as a guttural breath of air built up in my chest and began to rise along my esophagus and throat, morphing and expanding along the way, I knew this had nothing to do with what I just did. No, this sound – the hissing, "_The pendulum awaits_" that escaped my contorted and twisted mouth as I bent forward, grasping the table for support, came from much more than just a transference of Traveling abilities.

The contortion and constriction released me and I gasped for air, still clutching the table's edge. "Fuck!" I gasped and pushed off once I could somewhat breathe, Riddle standing stalk still beside me.

"You speak Parseltongue," he said in a hushed tone, eyes glinted and leering down at me.

"Go, Riddle. Go now. Please."

He didn't budge. And I knew he wouldn't move until either he got his answer or something made him move. So I moved for him.

I grabbed the chain hanging out the side of his hand and looped it over his neck, ignoring his penetrating leer. Taking the glass from his hand, I tucked it into his prison tunic shirt and patted it gently once inside. "Go, Riddle, please. Just go. Anywhere you want. Anywhere in Time. Anywhere. Please go," I begged, avoiding his gaze and meticulously buttoning the last few buttons on the tunic shirt.

"Thalia, I…you speak…."

"Go," I urged once more and, before shoving him away with all my strength in preparation for my own departure from here as Alexius' "THALIA!" echoed down the passage outside, I stood on my tippy-toes and kissed him. "Go," I said, pushing him away and myself into the Vortex of blue fog and sounds and images. Just as it enfolded me entirely and just as the black cloud of his own, new-old fog began to fall over Riddle, Alexius, bloodied up and slightly mangled (arm definitely broken and a chunk of his left calf missing, it seemed), burst in through the doorway.

"Riddle, NO! NO! NO!" He bellowed and bellowed and those practically tortured sounds (honestly I think the realization of what we'd done to his plans and all of his hard work to get us this far hurt him more than his injuries) followed me deep and far into Time and Space. They followed me past Pompeii, and over the Incan, Aztec and Mayan empires and into the New World. They hunted past centuries of suffering that mine would probably never match but which I felt could never match mine. They followed me and accused me of utter selfishness and purely loathsome self-righteousness. They followed me, accused me and all the while, as I fell through Time and Space, I couldn't even release a single tear. I simply couldn't. Nothing physically impeded me from doing so. I just couldn't bring myself to regret that, although we left some shit hanging, Riddle and I, together and out of the imperfect bond that we have, made this decision. We, as one, had saved our child's life. We, as one and eternally separated, would always have this.

So, what, in the end, can I say to you? I'm sorry. I truly am sorry for…well, for all of this. I know you probably expected a better ending – a more closed and possibly even a happier ending than this. This: a childless, broken ghost of a mother falling and falling through Time and Space, afraid to even land for fear of falling back into the same mess. An incomplete explanation of what truly happened with the loop she Traveled time and time again. A broken image of what had begun as a half-blood girl just trying to keep her family safe in a time of war. I'm sorry so much has changed and yet nearly nothing has. Perhaps, someday, when I land and can find a safe place to live out the rest of my days (which I will number myself, if so necessary) or if I ever have the courage to face all those questions I left behind…perhaps then I can explain to you what the fuck happened with me….

But for now, as I skim over the Industrial Age, I bid you farewell. Goodbye. And again: I'm so sorry….


	23. Epilogue

**A/N: ENJOY :P**

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><p><strong><em>Time Will Tell<br>_**

By: NY GE Pyromaniac

**_Epilogue_**

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><p>"Ugh! Damn it, Ray! Ain't you ever heard of garlic?" I demanded of the large, muscular man behind the dingy countertop, who eyed me tiredly through bloodshot eyes as he kneaded another ball of dough into form. "Fucking sweet as hell, this sauce," I complained, but took my bubbling, hot slice of pizza over the booth I'd claimed as mine over three hours ago.<p>

"Eat somethin' else if ya don' like the shit, Thali, jeez!" he called after me and I flipped him the birdie, trying to pull the stretchy cheese into my mouth without burning my lips. Or my chin for that matter.

Polishing off my seventh slice of the day and anticipating that I could afford maybe another five today – if I didn't drink anything, or if Ray liked my smile today – I set aside the grease and sauce stained paper plate (on top of the six others I had on one tiny section of the table) and turned back to thin book I had open before me. It took me a minute to push back the conversation a group of kids behind me was having very loudly about the new iPod from Macintosh Apple or some shit like that. But once I did, and once I put my mind back into Ancient Runes mode, I read through (for perhaps the twentieth time today) the last paragraph of the penultimate chapter in this book, straining and stretching my mind to grasp and wrap around what Alexius had tried to say.

The backpack next to me in the booth held only the three most recent notebooks that I'd filled with notes on the topic I wanted to penetrate fully and tear apart piece by motherfucking piece; but those notebooks pertained to Alexius' book alone, so I had no qualms about not having the others with me this time. Not since, about three months ago, I realized that all the answers had to exist in this one, thin pamphlet of a book. I mean, yeah, others had discussed the mechanics of Separation and Reconnection and others had went into detail about Travelers and Traveling. But none covered the most fundamental mechanics of human functions in relation to what happens during a Separation and then a Reconnection as per the mechanics of Transference and Maintenance of Life in a lesser form than that of Master. Yeah, I know I had that same look on my face three years ago when I finally bellied up to the poker table and looked at the hand I'd gotten dealt.

But, once you get the gist of what happened…it sort of makes sense. Just a few pieces need finding now and I, for the last year to year and half, have dedicated myself to just that. You know, to close at least _that_ section for you.

"Closing time, Thali. Pay up," Ray called from behind the counter as I reread the same paragraph, referencing my third notebook of notes – the one about the horcruxes. Sucking my teeth but nodding, I called it a night and packed my things away. I'd slung my bag over my shoulder, thrown out my ten paper plates, and had pulled out a twenty dollar bill and ten dollar bill to pay Ray with when, from out the front door of the beat up pizza shop and across the street into the alley where I'd gotten my last hit, something caught my eye. "I should keep the fucking change for all those free drinks you got off of me _and_ junior, Thalia," I heard Ray say, but didn't quite catch it.

"Uh-huh," I nodded, squinting a bit past the grimy glass of the door. "Hey, d'you know if Rex is out already?"

"I don't know shit about that hood, Thali, and neither should you," Ray reprimanded my attempt to get information about the known dealer out of him. Well, it served me right, asking the first person to give a shit about me when I first got here about a drug dealer. It's bad enough that he's had to take me to the hospital on more than one occasion when I couldn't control myself. But to actually mention the shit out loud and in his place of business...? No. Not good.

"Sorry. Um, yeah, keep the change."

"I was kidding, baby. I know, you need –"

I waved him off and ended, "Keep it. I'm good. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He sighed but nodded, stretching over the counter for his kiss.

I planted a soft kiss on his cheek and took off. The theatrics, I'd come up with just for him – he needed them – but the ingenuity of heading up the avenue and up the next block only to go back down the avenue on that side and into the alley through the other end: that was all for me. It had lasted only a few seconds, the misty substance that had caught my eye from across the street in the pizza shop where I spent about eighty percent of my time. But more than the substance, the color had caught my eye. Against the already blackened sky that never really went charcoal because of the city lights, the smoky mist's coal black color stood out like yellow on a fried egg. To tell you the truth – because I know I haven't in quite some time – I already knew, the moment I spotted from across the street the mist falling around the huddled form on the ground that I now approached, that I wouldn't see Ray tomorrow. Or even the next day. I probably wouldn't see him for a long time. And that stood as the only reason for me breaking his heart the way I just did, asking about Rex. I needed an excuse to disappear for a while and a relapse into drugs seemed like a good enough cover story.

A deep but short groan sounded, banging on familiar bells in the back of my head, and I couldn't do anything about the urge to run forward. In less than thirty paces, I'd stood right next to the huddled form on the cold, hard ground and immediately knelt down beside him. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" I hissed through clenched teeth as the sight of blood against the person's pale skin met my eyes. "No. Please, no," I begged of no one in particular as I kept myself from touching the deep gash in the familiar face's forehead. I needed to clean it first.

But, having no extra cloth on me and not daring to even test my strength with his already weakened condition, I resorted to using the young man's own clothing. Taking one look at his attire, I wanted to smirk, laugh, scream and cry all at once. "Typical," I muttered and made to remove his standard military issue – well, standard in 1916 – wingman jacket so as to use it as a support for his head once I wrapped it around the bomber helmet I spotted toward the opposite wall of the alley. "Qué voy hacer contigo, amor*?" I asked of the semi-conscious but still pretty out of it soldier. I worked his combat shirt off in silence, trying to keep it as clean as possible, meaning to use it to clean the head wound.

Soft groans and deep inhalations alone escaped from him as I pulled shrapnel from his wounds (it turned out to be two separate gashes on his head that, near the ends, formed into one wide gash). But after that, as I wiped the blood away and used the water that I always carry with me around the city (because I refuse to pay more than a dollar for a bottle of water) to clean the wound a bit more, and then as I attempted to very slowly and deliberately seal the gashes using my magic (because now I had no other choice), he didn't even seem to breath hard or deep. When I finished, I decided that shirtless, even in this day and age, for him, would not feel too appropriate, and peeled off my own thin sweater to lay across his bare chest. He had scars there as well, healed – definitely by magic – but there, nonetheless. But I said nothing. I chose not to disturb him.

And after a few more minutes of simply staring at him, taking in every bit of him – bigger, older, more filled out than the last time we saw each other, but still (and immaculately unchanged in this aspect) a perfect semblance of an angel while unconscious – I decided to not even wait until he came to. I stood, slung my bag over my shoulder again, ran to one end of the alley – the end I'd come in from – cast a strong ward, then ran to the other and did the same before stepping out and walking away toward thirty-fourth and eighth.

For a moment – just for a moment in Ray's pizzeria – I had felt weak. I wanted to go back and to at least have just a day with the injured soldier. Just a day. Just to feel…to feel him again. Just to know that it was all real. But, with my backpack containing all those books and all that information on Dark magic and Traveler mechanics slamming into my back over and over again with every step and with the fresh image of him with a bullet-graze wound on his forehead from what I would assume the WWI era, I decided that I'd had, with just those two things, more than enough proof for one lifetime: this and everything that has ever happened was real; more real than I could ever wish for upon even my worst enemy….

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><p>Qué voy hacer contigo, amor* - What am I going to do with you, love?<p> 


	24. Sequel

**A/N: ** Hey, guys! Listen, I see a lot of your have followed, faved, etc etc this fic and me as well. Dudes, it gives me the extreme happies, honestly, that you have because it shows you've read and liked my work and that is amazing. I love you all for that. But, well, as you'll notice this fic is complete - prologue and all - and I guess I should make an announcement here for those of you who most likely won't check my profile. There is a sequel in progress. Now, I know some of you are probably the type to just wait until a fic is complete to even bother reading it because the waiting is cruel btwn chapters. But, this is just a heads up. The sequel is titled **_Dynamis_** **_Tempus_**and is three chapters in, so far. I suggest, honestly, if you liked this fic, to give that one a chance. It's more or less around the same kind of progression of this one: slow at first and then fast and twisty later. :P Anyway, that's my PA and I hope you all - silents readers and not-so-silent readers - give it a shot. And, if it hasn't been clear, I truly appreciate all of you taking the time to read and follow and add the fic and myself to your lists. You're all absolutely amazing for it. Thank you

x0x0,

-NYGEP


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